Beast of Burden (25 page)

Mouthy took a slow step forward, like he wasn't going to do anything except maybe whisper at us. I caught Giggles moving, too. Pair of them, closing in on us.

“Doesn't matter if we're working for Innes, if we're working for Mr Tiernan or someone else with a lot more pull.”

“Who? Come on, lads, who's got more pull than Tiernan, eh?”

“All that matters is that you understand the message I've just delivered to you.” He cleared his throat, tried a smile. “Do you understand—”

“Yeah, mate, I understand your fuckin' message.” I shifted on the settee. “And you're a couple of cunts think they're above the bastard law.”

Mouthy started shaking his head. “That's not—”

“I know that's not
your
message, mate, but that's what I'm saying to you. You know what I am? I'm the fuckin'
police
. I'm the
law
. You can't do what you've done to a copper without expecting the whole fuckin' force to come after you. We protect our own.”

Mouthy looked at us, his head still. The smile had faded to a smirk that would've been invisible if it wasn't for the fact that I'd been staring him in the face for so long.

I lowered my voice. “You know you're already in the shit, old son. And you know that if you keep fucking around the way you are, I'm going to make it my sole fuckin' life's work to track you down and make your life as uncomfortable as the five minutes you've been in my fuckin' house. But I'll make you a one-time deal right now. You tell us who sent you, and me and you, we'll forget this ever happened.”

He worked his mouth. Looked to me that he was thinking about my proposition. Course, I hadn't said anything about this rat of a mate. That bastard would get strung up as soon as I got the rope.

Finally, the big bloke sighed. “One thing, though.”

“What's that?”

“I'm not in the shit.”

“You what?”

“You're not a copper,” he said. “You're suspended. And there's not a lot you can do if you're just a civilian. Isn't that right, Donkey?”

That was it.

I pushed up off the balls of my feet, lunged at Mouthy. He switched out of the way, and I followed through, staggered a couple of steps and brought the coffee table halfway across the fucking room before I pitched to the floor. Then I saw a blur of movement, realised that Giggles was coming up on us. Mouthy must've dropped the word because I honestly didn't see this simple rat-fucker do anything without the big man's say-so. Giggles kicked us once, then twice in the gut and I retched and rolled. Mouthy brought his foot into my back. As I swung back, he brought his heel down in the middle of my chest, tore the breath out of us. I choked a scream, couldn't do anything except look up Mouthy's nose until Giggles snapped a short kick across my nose.

I threw up a hand as the flashbulbs went off again.

And then I was gone.

INNES

When Tiernan calls me on the mobile to let me know that Donkey's been taken care of, I don't bother to ask how. He sent lads round, or he managed to have a word with Donkey's superiors. Either way, Donkey's had his arse handed to him, and he shouldn't be a problem. Not for the time being, anyway.

So what d'you reckon, Cal?

Reckon you can go through with this?

Truth is, I don't know.

I've been stuck in the Micra all morning, watching varying strengths of rain stream down the windscreen. Now there's one of those low-slung stretch-bonnet hairdresser cars heading towards Alison's house, I'm ducked down in my seat, watching it. Pretty sure Alison's behind the wheel, but I don't know for sure until the car pulls into her driveway and she gets out.

What about now? Different when she's there, isn't it?

I look down at the wallet in my hands. Belonged to Mo, still got his blood on it, probably. Not much in it apart from the usual identification. A bus pass with a recent photo, Mo staring out at me like a challenge. It doesn't look like much, but it could be everything.

That's what I fucking thought.

Look up and Alison's face is creased at the drizzle. She pulls the front passenger seat forward and leans into the car for something. I watch her fuss about for a few seconds. Turns out the something was a someone, a toddler dressed in a coat so puffy he can't put his arms down by his sides.

This must be the same kid I saw being looked after by Morris Tiernan a year ago. And as Alison sets him down on the ground and reaches in for some shopping bags, I can't help but wonder where the time went. He's walking by himself, arms out like some miniature bodybuilder, waddling towards the front door. He looks up, gets his face wet, then rubs at the water with one mittened hand.

Meanwhile, Alison is trying get her key in the door. When she manages to twist and open, she calls the kid's name — Sammy — and ushers him into the house. I see her bring him back onto the doormat to wipe his feet, then she closes the door and all I can hear is the random spots of rain on the car windows.

It is different seeing her.

This is Alison Tiernan in real life, and a straight one at that, from what I can see. Far from the gangster's daughter who had me beaten almost to fucking death in a motorway lay-by, this girl looks to the world to be the usual young single mother, albeit one living beyond her means thanks to her father.

And what do you have to thank her father for?

Right. I might have some lingering doubts over what I'm about to do, but there's no question that she's still very much a part of the Tiernan family, and that's all that matters.

Besides, I'm not sure I have much of a choice now, my mobility limited to a single course of action. Mind you, if there's anything I know about these days, it's limited mobility, and while Donkey might be out of the game, he won't be out for long. So I should make the most out of the opportunity I've been given.

Then do it
.

I wait another fifteen minutes by the clock in the dashboard, just to make sure that Alison's managed to unpack her shopping and get settled. Then I get out of the Micra and hobble towards her front door.

The trick is to look like I've just arrived, and as harmless as possible into the bargain. I'm hoping the rain will do me good, add a certain pathetic quality to me when I ring the doorbell.

Just because the circumstances have changed, doesn't mean the person has. I just have to remember that. And even if Alison Tiernan
has
changed, that doesn't alter what her and her family did to me and a load of other people over the years.

I press the doorbell. A soft chime sounds behind the door.

I hear her before I see her. She's saying something to the kid, looking at him as she opens the door. When she turns my way, there's that flicker of disgust. And somewhere in her mind, she's calling herself all the cunts under the sun for opening the door without checking first.

“I think we … need to talk,” I say.

“I told you the other night—”

“This is important,” I say, nice and loud.

She glances behind me. Not as easy to keep me under wraps in broad daylight. And she's obviously worried about how she's perceived out here. Which is handy for me.

“Make it quick and wipe your feet.”

She backs off to one side as I step into the house. She hurries me through into the hall as I struggle to wipe my feet on a doormat that's too small to be practical.

When I look at her again, she looks like she'd quite happily murder me. That's the Alison Tiernan I knew back in Newcastle.

She heads up the hall, urging Sammy to stay in the living room. “Mummy'll be in in a minute, okay?”

I unzip my jacket and follow her to the kitchen.

“You'll want a brew, will you?” she says.

“Yes, please.”

And as she goes to put the kettle on, I put a hand in my pocket, feel for Mo's wallet. I'll need to be quick and precise when the time comes.

INNES

“I don't know what you want us to tell you.”

“The truth?”

Alison raises both eyebrows at me, then goes back to stirring her coffee. She's noisy about it, clanging the spoon against the side of the mug as if she's about to make a speech. Then she tosses the spoon into the sink and stands with her back to the kitchen counter.

“I kept the baby,” she says. “And I was scared about it. Don't think I wasn't. I mean, you know what they say about brothers and sisters … I didn't know if it stretched to
half
brothers and sisters, didn't know if he was going to be alright or have one eye and a hole in his heart. But what did I know? I was a fucking kid myself.”

She shakes her head, picks up the two mugs and brings them over to the table. Somewhere behind me in the living room with its cream carpet, Ikea furniture and fake flame gas fire, the kid's playing. That waddle I saw him do outside has more to do with his pudgy little frame than the coat he was wearing. He's active, and he's interested. Come a long way from the kid with a face like a bag of rocks.

“So you left,” I say.

She looks at me to see if I'm taking the piss. As it turns out, I'm not. I'm actually interested. Because whatever I've heard about Alison, or the way she was back then, there's still a disconnect between that and the way she is now, and I need to sort that out. The car, the semi-detached, the whole fucking lifestyle change, looks to me that it's paid for by her daddy, which she's already made clear to me isn't the case. But that's got to be a lie.

“Yeah, I left home. With a man I shouldn't have. And … all
that
happened.”

All that — nicking ten grand from her dad, absconding to Newcastle, me after her and about to get run over, beaten up and hung out to dry. Dismissed with two words, and it's all I can do not to laugh.

“You had it worked out,” I say, shaking my head. “With Rob.”

“I didn't expect Mo,” she says.

“Neither of us did.”

“And I was a different person then.”

That's the chorus for the conversation, something she's keen to tell me whenever she gets the chance. It's as if she knows why I've come round, that she feels the need to tell her side of the story, make me see that she's not to blame for what happened to me. But it's really too late for that now. I'm just listening because I'm interested, not because I need persuading of anything. So I just nod and try to look like she's having an effect.

“I was angrier then. There were issues I had to deal with.”

“Right.”

“And you've got to understand what it was like for me. Growing up in that house. With my dad, with Mo, you've got to understand why I thought maybe being stuck with Mo's kid wasn't the cleverest life decision.”

“Life decision?”

Sounds like she's been up to her nose in self-help and paid therapy of the ineffective British kind. It would explain a lot.

“What about now?” I say.

She sips her coffee, stares beyond me at the kid in the other room. “Now I won't be without him.”

“What about Mo?”

Her eyes snap back to me. She blinks. “You know, then.”

I don't say anything. Better she assumes I know more than I do.

“He came round,” she says.

“When?”

“A month ago. Maybe longer, I don't know. Doorbell rang, and Mo's on the step, asking if he can see Sammy. I tell him no, he can't, I just put him down for the night. It was like ten at night. Even if I wanted Mo to see Sammy — which I didn't, not for one
second
— I wouldn't have woken him up. But he kept shouting that he wanted to see his kid, and …”

She trails off, takes a moment to blow some air and blink furiously. Looks as if she might start crying in a minute.

“The neighbours,” I say.

She nods. “Nobody around here knows who I am.”

Right. She's off starting her new life and then has her half-brother screaming that he wants to see his kid? Not going to do much to endear her to the community, is it?

“So you let him in,” I say.

“Yeah. Had to. And I said he could see Sammy, but he wasn't allowed to touch him or wake him up or anything like that. So we went upstairs and I let him look in on him, and then brought him back down. Then he started talking about the future.” She pulls a face as if the word stuck to her tongue like a gob of phlegm. “Like he wanted to be part of Sammy's life. Not like an uncle or anything, but a
dad
. Y'know, I felt sorry for him and everything, but I couldn't …”

Tears in her eyes now. She puts both hands round the coffee mug. She frowns quickly and the tears seem to dry up.

“I couldn't let him in like that, I didn't know what Dad would say — I mean, it was
over
, he wasn't part of the family, I couldn't just let him into my life, could I? It was
different
. I was different, I wasn't the same stupid girl who let … “She drinks from her mug, sighs after she swallows. “So I told him no, he had to leave.”

I wait. She presses one hand to each of her eyes in turn and sniffs.

“He said was there anything he could do. Like, he was sorting himself out, he was going to get a job, he'd already talked to Rossie about it. He was going to get straight, stop dealing, and when he did that, could he be a part of Sammy's life? And he seemed so fucking
genuine
about it.”

I nod, playing at understanding. This is all news to me. Not like Mo to show vulnerability like that. But then, I never knew him the way his half-sister did.

Thank fuck.

Alison sits for a while. I don't say anything until it looks as if she's caught up in her memory.

“You let him?” I say.

She looks up at me, and for a moment I see the rage in her eyes. “No, of course I didn't let him. I'm not stupid, am I? Mo's a fucking liar, probably just wanted a pity fuck, so I told him to get out, didn't I? And when he didn't go, when he tried it on, I fucking hit him.”

“You hit him?”

“In the face.”

Explains the wound that I saw and added to. I glance around at the floor of the kitchen, looking for blood. Nothing. “And then?”

“Then he went,” she says. “I got rid of him. Told him not to come back.”

I nod slowly. “And that's it?”