Beast of Burden (26 page)

“Yes.”

“You haven't seen him?”

“Not since then, no.” She pauses, manages to collect herself. “Is that why you came here?”

“No,” I lie. And then to add more inches on the nose: “I wanted to … apologise.”

“For what?”

“For the other night. Turning up …
uninvited
. Must've been unwelcome. I'm sorry.” I whirl my hand around at the kitchen. “You're trying to … do something. With your life.”

She regards me over the lip of her mug, then puts it down. Her gaze flickers to something behind me. “Sammy. Sammy-love, put that down.”

“I should go,” I say, starting to get up.

“No, it's alright,” she says, still watching Sammy. “Just … you're fine, really.”

She stands and I watch her quick-march into the living room. Sammy's busy looking guilty as hell with three fingers in his mouth. Alison tugs on his arm and he removes his wet fingers.

“Sammy, don't do that, sweetheart, alright?”

Sammy nods. Smiles. Then he looks around the place. I don't know much about kids, don't even really know how old Sammy is, but there's something about the lad telling me that Alison's original fears were probably on the money. He looks spaced, maybe a bit touched. Like he's not part of the world, like he can barely relate to what's going on. What's the word,
autistic
? Or it could be that he's inherited his father's intelligence. Either way, the kid's most likely retarded.

“D'you want to play with your cars? Is it your cars?”

Sammy stares at me. He's seen something in my face that he finds fascinating. Just like everyone else, except this kid doesn't have the social skills to know he's being rude. Alison follows his gaze, then puts a hand on his cheek.

“Sammy, no. You want your cars?”

“Brum-brum,” says Sammy.

“Right y'are, brum-brum.”

“Brum-
broooooooooooom
.”

Sammy's noises get louder as he toddles off to a corner of the room. He yanks on a small plastic box, then there's the sound of die-cast hitting die-cast as he organises the kind of multiple pile up that would mean a bloodbath in real life. Alison stays crouched in the middle of the lounge. Behind her, Sportacus zips about the place with his rubber muppet friends. It's a grotesque programme, seems oily to me, makes me a little sick watching it. I have to turn away from it.

“I'm sorry, too,” she says.

“What for?”

“For everything that happened to you because of me.”

She does blame herself, then. Maybe she saw me the other night and it spooked her into rudeness. But I come around again, she sees me in broad fucking daylight with no real excuses to keep me out and with neighbours who'd query the freakshow on the front step, so she lets me in. And now I've been sat here talking to her, it's difficult to ignore the damage caused, in the first instance, by the injuries sustained in a hit-and-snatch organised by her.

I get to my feet, take my cup to the sink. Pass the bin and find it half-empty. Yeah, that should do it. I check to see Alison playing with Sammy, then I drop Mo's wallet into the bin as I put the cup in the sink. There's a slight rustle, covered by the clink. Alison turns at the sound, and I'm already unwrapping a new pack of chewing gum.

“It's okay,” I tell her. “No harm done, eh?”

And she sees me to the door. It's still raining outside, so I pull up my collar again and hobble through it towards my car. Alison holds onto Sammy's hand. I look back to see Sammy waving at me, his fingers closed around a toy car. I wave back before I get into the Micra and, behind the curtain of rain on the windscreen, allow myself a long, slow exhale.

Then I turn the key in the ignition and watch the wipers sluice the rain from the windscreen.

DONKIN

When I came back to the world, it was the colour of my carpet, and I had one thought in my head — Innes is a fucking dead man.

I took it slow getting up, ticking off each ache as I did, making a mental checklist of every fucking kick I'd taken, holding onto it so I could remember it when I finally got my hands on the bastard. Took a breather at the doorway to the front room, staring at the mess on the carpet. Had to breathe through my mouth because my nose was mashed shut. Blood, beer and cigarette butts strewn across the floor, the table turned over. I felt my jaw, waggled a loose tooth. Reckoned one of them twats had kicked us in the mouth, even though I didn't remember it. And as I stood there, looking around the place, something struck us harder than any of them kicks.

Thank fuck Annie and Shannon hadn't been here.

Because it was obvious Tiernan didn't give a shit; his lads were here to do their job regardless. I dreaded to think what could've happened if the girls had been here. But even though it was small mercies and all that, it was enough to get my blood going and me moving. I grabbed my jacket from the settee, dug out my phone. Called Innes on his mobile, but he wasn't answering. Didn't exactly surprise us, that, and I was about to leave him a message, but I decided to hang up instead. Nothing I wanted to say to him that wouldn't be better spat into his bleeding, screaming face. So I went upstairs, got myself cleaned up, trying not to look too hard at my own face. Then I got changed and stormed out to the car, pulling a face against the sunlight that threatened to burn the backs of my eyes out.

I sat in the car for the first two songs off of
Diva
, just so I knew I wasn't going off half-cocked here. I needed to stow all that rage for the moment. Use the energy in a more productive way, just like what that therapist told us I should do. I couldn't go grab the cripple and beat the shite out of him, even though I knew if he wasn't behind my wake-up call, he was certainly fucking involved. Because that would be the old Iain, the fucking
Donkey
, right? And if I was serious about change, I'd have to be serious about
now
.

Put both hands on the steering wheel, breathed through my mouth nice and slow, closed the one eye that hadn't already started to puff itself shut. And I calmed down.

Then I turned the key in the ignition, started the engine. Headed for the poof's club, went straight past because there was no sign of the Micra. For a second, I thought about going in, rattling the poof's cage, but reckoned it'd be best if I kept a low profile for as long as possible. No sense in letting the crippled cunt know I was coming until I was already there.

So: no Micra, no Innes. I turned at the top of the street, headed out to Regent Road and further up to the block of flats where I knew Innes lived. As I was about to get out of the car, I stopped.

Saw the white Micra coming my way.

I pulled the door shut, moved down in my seat. Hoped he didn't see us. I watched the Micra slow up a bit as it came to the gates that led to the car park, but then he moved on, like he wasn't sure. I waited until he was well past us before I turned my motor round and followed.

Yeah, the fucker'd seen us, but he'd hoped that I hadn't seen
him
. And I might've had one eye swollen shut, but I wasn't all the way blind yet. I followed him up the road, watched him turn towards Eccles.

Then I followed the bastard all around Greater Manchester, a slow game of lose-the-tail, going round in bastard circles. After a while, I didn't know where the fuck we were. I'd been dragged through that many concrete fucking estates, they all started to blend into one. And by the end of it, I wasn't two cars behind him anymore.

There was no point. We both knew what was going on here.

I was about to lean on the horn, or hang out the window and shout at him to stop fucking about when the Micra slowed to a stop.

I pulled in right behind him. Kept the engine going, just like him. Just in case he reckoned he could make a break for it, which would've been just like him.

So I waited. Saw him watching us in his rear view. I watched him right the fuck back.

Saw Innes roll down his window. He put his hand out, waved it in an overtake gesture. I thought I saw half a smile on the bastard's face as he looked at us in the mirror.

Having a fucking giggle at my expense, right enough, eh? Like this was one big fucking game to him.

Well, fuck that. No more games. I had the bastard on his own, now was a good a time as any. I unclipped my seat belt, shoved open the driver's door. Ahead of us, Innes revved the engine till it roared.

I had one foot on the ground when he let go of the handbrake.

Then the Micra jumped backwards, connected hard with the front of my Granada. There was a quick shake under my arse, I heard my shoe scrape against the tarmac, and my car lurched out from under us.

I whipped my leg back into the car, clamped both hands round the steering wheel, knocked the volume on the CD and Annie was soon belting out “Little Bird” so loud I thought my fucking head was going to bust open. I wanted to knock her off, but Innes kept grinding his car against mine. I hammered at the brakes, shouted at him.

Then he chucked the Micra into gear and jumped it forward.

I saw my chance, made for the door. When I glanced front, I saw the Micra bearing down on us again, twisted a bit like he'd catch us if I got out the car. I managed to yank the door shut just as his car hit it bang on, throwing a nasty shock up my arm and punching the bodywork right in.

Tried the door handle. It didn't work. I saw Innes kick the accelerator again, kangaroo forward.

“The fuck d'you think you're doing, you daft—”

And he only slammed the car into us again. I got thrown back in my seat this time. Grabbed at the handle to get out. Couldn't see straight for the red mist, wanted to get out there and throttle this cunt.

Then I looked up and there he was, getting out the Micra. Limping across to us, this foul look on his face.

I didn't know what to do. First time in my life one of these bastards had the brass balls to fight back.

Innes reached the driver's door. Stepped back, lifted his stick like a club.

“The fuck—”

Flinched when the stick hit the window. Didn't break, but there was a crack in the glass that I'd take out of his arse if I ever managed to get out of this fucking car.

“Innes, you fuckin'—”

Second time he hit the window, the glass cracked thicker and longer. Another crack jutted out of the frame.

No, fuck this. It got too much for us, so I stamped on the accelerator. Heard the engine roar. The Granada was playing funny buggers.

A third swipe, connected hard. I realised the handbrake was on. Saw another crack. Knew the window wouldn't take another hit, and the fucking window exploded all over us. I flung up my hand to protect my face, felt the tiny bits of glass dig in and twist under my open wounds. I tightened my grip on the handbrake, slammed it down and the Granada leapt forward. Threw me against the steering wheel, but I kept my head up. I didn't think my nose could take another smack. I went back into my seat, my eyes closed. When I opened them again, I saw an arm whipping out of the car.

Innes.

I made a grab, but he was already out of the car and limping away. He'd nicked something, I just didn't know what. I looked around the inside of the car, my ears ringing. Looked up and saw him walking backwards, one hand held up.

Realised the engine wasn't running.

The bastard had taken my fucking car keys.

I pushed hard on the handle then., felt something grind against something else inside the door. Brushed the glass of my hand, watching Innes gimp it back to his car. The Micra was all smashed up in the back, and he'd have a shitload to pay on it. I turned back and smacked Annie Lennox off the CD, then hauled myself across the gear stick, got out the passenger side.

“You,” I shouted. “You fuckin' better hold your bastard horses, son, I want a good hard fuckin' word with you.”

Reached the side of the Micra. He was waiting for us with engine running. Still had the window wound down. I made a grab for him, but he kicked the gas again, jumped forward so the inside of the window frame smacked us in the elbow.

“Give us the fuckin' keys or you'll get your rights.”

“Really, Donkey?”

He hopped the car again. Kept us from reaching in there, grabbing the twat around the neck. He held my car keys in one hand, shook them till they jingled. Innes drove slowly up the street. I walked alongside the Micra, holding my aching elbow.

“Yeah, really.”

“What happened to your face?” he said.

“Like you don't fuckin' know. It was your wake-up call.”

“Alarm clock … beat you up?”

“I took care of it. And I'm not off you, so it was a waste of fuckin' time.”

“You took care of it?” One of Innes' eyebrows went up. Probably the only one that worked. “I find that …
difficult
to believe.”

“Course you would, you fuckin' mong, your brain doesn't fuckin' work.”

“That's not nice.”

“You want nice?”

I made another grab. He made the car jump again. A fresh jolt to my fucking elbow. Hardest part of the body, my arse.

“I wouldn't,” he said. “Wouldn't do that.”

I relaxed a bit, backed off. Tried to be ice about the whole situation, because the last thing I needed was for that twat to feel like he was in charge.

“You know this is doing nowt but pissing me off, Innes.”

“I know.”

“And you know this doesn't end with you winning.”

Innes shook his head and half-smiled out of the windscreen. “Depends.”

“Nah, this situation, this is just something I'm going to hold onto, you know that. I'm the bloke who holds a grudge.”

“You don't fuckin' say.”

“So you also know that when I get a chance, I'm going to break your fuckin' neck.” I kept my voice low so he'd know exactly how fucking serious I was about this. “Make you a full mong, proper shoulderbiter. Put you in a wheelchair, put a fuckin' bag on your hip.”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“So you're listening to us. You can hear us.”

He nodded, driving on. It was getting cold, and I didn't fancy being stuck out here for any length of time. I pulled my coat tighter.

“You know the minute you get back to your poof's club, or you get fuckin' home, I'm going to come in there with a couple of thickneck constables and we're going to work all your fuckin' pressure points, leave no bruises on the outside. Then I'm going to bring you down the fuckin' station and I'm going to make up some terror charges so I can keep you in a cell without food or water for a month. And we'll see who's the fuckin' smug-arse then, eh?”