Beast of Burden (8 page)

“So where's Rossie?”

The rain has eased off to a shower, but it's still cold enough to prompt a shiver from Baz as he sucks on a filter round the Harvester's “beer garden”, which is basically a trestle table and an outside ashtray. He rubs his nose as he contemplates his answer. We seem to be the only things moving out here. The houses across the way look abandoned, but someone has to call this place their local.

“You never talked to him, then,” he says.

“Don't know … where he is.”

“He's out of it.”

“Left town?”

“Left the game,” says Baz. “Been looking for an excuse to fuck off since he started knocking off that skank up Cheetham Hill.”

“You keep in touch?”

“Last I heard, he was working full-time in fuckin'
Currys
.”

“Making them?”

“The shop. In the Trafford.”

Never expected Rossie to go straight, and I certainly never expected him to go into a job-type job. Which makes me think it wasn't just the skank who made him leave. “What about Mo?”

Baz breathes smoke down through his nostrils as he plucks the cigarette from his mouth. “I don't know. He was bad.”

“What's that mean?”

“Since his dad chucked him out, y'know, he was just doing
bad
. Wasn't right in the head most of the time, that thing with his dad just like fuckin' turned it up. I've known since first school, right, but I swear to God I never seen so bad as after his dad cut him loose. That was like the final fuckin' straw. You know, Rossie told us Mo didn't even know who his mam was? I mean, Mo always reckoned it was this one bird, but she was already long gone by the time he could ask any questions.”

“Gone?”

“Dead or left.” Baz pulls a face. “Doesn't matter which, does it? But my fuckin' point is, you forgive him a lot of the shit he did 'cause, y'know, what else was he supposed to fuckin' turn out like, you get me? Tapped at the source. So it's no wonder he did what he did.”

“Like his sister.”

“
Half
-sister. But yeah, that.” The orange glow on the end of his cigarette bobs as he moves his head. He blows some more smoke. “I never said it was legal or nowt like that. I'm just trying to give you some background on it, 'cause I know you didn't look at that whole thing the same fuckin' way we did.”

“How'd you see it?”

“Just that Mo loved her.”

“Fuck off.”

“Nah, see, different fuckin' ways of seeing it. And you never saw him when it was going on. It was true love to him. Didn't matter that they was fuckin' related.”

“Yeah, I know this. True love. Okay.”

“And when she went and fucked off with that bloke, you got to understand, he's already got this shite with his dad, not thinking he's up to snuff, now his fuckin'
bird
's pulling the same. Y'know,
plus
he's never been right in the head in the first fuckin' place … it was never going to end well.”

I glare at him. “You think?”

“All I'm saying, you want to blame anyone for what's happened, don't fuckin' put it all on Mo. And if owt's happened to him, then it's probably not deserved that much.”

“What
has
… happened to him?”

“I don't know.”

“Last time you saw him?”

Baz takes a long drag on the cigarette, then another, until there's the smell of burning filter in the air. He pulls the butt from his mouth, flicks it into a puddle. He points to the pub. “In there.”

“When?”

“Couple month back.”

That's about right. “Was Rossie there?”

“Just me and Mo.”

“And?”

“And, what else do you do in a fuckin' pub?” He spits at the pavement. “We were drinking, and he was in a fuckin' state, wasn't he? He was talking about his dad, which he usually did when he'd had a few.”

“How?”

“Like the usual.” Baz moves his shoulders. “Like he was going to show his dad that he wasn't a fuck-up, and did I know that Uncle Morris treated him like shit his entire life, never gave him a chance to stand up, work on a bigger scale. Course I fuckin' did, it was all he ever talked about when he had a couple pints in him. And then he started talking about Rossie, and wondering where he was, so I told him he was working in Currys. He said we should go and fuck him up, him and his missus. And I said I wasn't going to fuckin' do that. Rossie was a mate, wasn't he? Then he got all fuckin' lairy with us, started on that I was a fat, useless cunt.” Baz sniffs, his eyes wide and glazed. He looks up at me, shrugs again. “Usual shite.”

It was. Any time I'd spent around the three of them, it was always Baz that got the shitty end of the stick. And I can only think Mo was well and truly hacked off to be left with Baz as company.

“So I told him to fuck off,” says Baz. “I wasn't taking his shite anymore, I couldn't be fuckin' arsed with it. And then he was like, he didn't need us anyway, I was a fuckin' baby, slowing him down.”

“He had plans?” I say.

“Mo always had plans. You know that. This time, he was going on about a
proper
job, something that would bring in the cash. Then he wouldn't have to spend his time in a shithole pub with a fuckin' braindead sidekick. That's what he said, anyway.”

“What d'you mean …
proper
?”

Baz shuffles closer into the smoker's alcove, peers at the dark grey sky. “I don't know, do I? Fuckin' Mo was always going on about Amsterdam, wasn't he? Reckoned he knew this bloke over there was going to hook him up a fuckin' distribution deal over here. Nobody in their right fuckin' mind would risk that much for three quid fuckin' pills, know what I mean? You're gonna bring in the Class As, you might as well bring in smack, get a better mark-up and the same fuckin' time if you're nabbed.”

“You setting up?”

“Me?” Shakes his head, wipes his nose. “Like fuck. You got another ciggie?”

I hand him the pack. He pulls out an Embassy, grunts his thanks, then sparks it with a disposable lighter.

“You not in … business, then?” I say.

He glares at me through a cloud of smoke. “Not like that, nah. Not like a proper fuckin' big-time job. I punt on if I get it, the usual. You know. Nowt fuckin' changes with me, mate. I'm the last proper gangster in Manchester.” He laughs, and as he winds down, I hear the wheeze tacked on the end of it. “I'm in with Tiernan, but way fuckin' down the totem, know what I mean? Out of sight, out of mind. One thing I learned being with Mo.”

“That's it?”

He nods, blows smoke out the side of his mouth. “He tried calling us once after that. I didn't talk to him.”

“And you haven't … seen him? Anywhere?”

“Not since, no. I told you.”

“Where's he living?”

Baz scratches at the corner of his mouth, picks at some dry skin there. “I know where he
was
living.”

“That'll do.”

“Might not be there now, like.”

“Last known's good.”

“Out at Miles Platting. He had this squat in Sutpen Court, used to kip down there sometimes.”

“Write it down.” I hand him a bookie pen and a bus ticket. “Thought he had a flat.”

“Yeah, he
did
,” he says as he scrawls on the ticket. “But he sold it. Y'know, after what happened with his old man—”

“
He
sold it?”

He hands me the address. “Said he didn't want to live where his dad could get to him. Just because he wanted to kill his fuckin' dad, reckoned it was the other way around an' all. And the way he told it, he needed the money.”

“For what?”

“Didn't ask. Just thought he needed it for this proper job he was talking about. Like fuckin' seed money or summat.”

“And?”

“And, I don't fuckin' know, do I? Either he did it and he's fucked off, or summat happened to him and he didn't.”

“You try to find him?”

He doesn't answer, turns his face away. When he breathes out, smoke spills out of his mouth, seems to go on forever. Then he closes his mouth, and the muscles in his jaw twitch like insects under his skin.

“Baz,” I say.

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

He thinks about it, takes another drag on the cigarette. Sucks his teeth and turns back to me.

Then he says, “Because I realised that I was better off without that cunt in my life.”

DONKIN

So yeah, I was hungry by the time I got out the station, kind of miserable into the bargain. On top of that, it was pissing down, so I had to stay in the entrance to light my cigarette. Glad I did, mind, because I got to see the jam sandwich rolling in up front, and who happened to be in the back seat but Paddy Reece, his face all knotted up.

As I stepped out into the rain, moving quick to my car, I called out to the bobby who'd brought him in. When he turned round, I waved at him to come over, then I got in my car, wound the window down.

“Detective,” he said, all professional, like.

“Your man in there, what you got him on?”

“Why d'you ask?” He was smiling with his mouth only, all professionalism gone out the window when he started to think I was after his collar. I didn't know what the fuck was the matter with people at this station, they were scared out of their minds about losing their arrests.

I looked at him through the smoke. “Answer a question with a question, why don't you?”

He didn't catch that, though, so there was this long, uncomfortable pause, me just staring at the daft twat, waiting for him to carry on. In the end, I gave a little Queen wave to get him rolling.

“Well?” I said.

“Shoplifting.”

I craned around in time to see Paddy disappearing into the station. Right enough, he was still in his socked feet. “Let me guess, he was in the fuckin' Foot Locker, was he?”

“TK Maxx.”

I laughed. “Fuckin' right y'are. Jesus Christ …”

“Pair of trainers on special.”

“Better get him banged up, then.” I started the engine, revved it good and hard. “Christ, you can't have a dangerous bloke like that walking the fuckin' streets, eh? Specially not in his stocking feet.”

I backed the car out of the space, turned towards the exit. Couldn't help myself laughing, thinking about poor old Paddy hopscotching his way into town, looking for the nearest shoe shop. Made us wonder why he never bothered going back to see his mate, get a pair of shoes off him. And I made a mental note to have a word with Paddy as soon as he got out. The bugger was definitely keeping something from us, and I wouldn't let it go until I found out what it was.

I started towards Salford, thinking I'd catch Innes at home and wind him up. He wasn't in, so I hung around outside for a while.

When I caught myself dozing off, I reckoned I'd best have a drive around, see if I couldn't wake up a bit.

As I was driving down into Castlefield, my mobile went off. I wouldn't normally have answered it, but the display showed ANNIE, so I had to.

“Yeah?” I said.

“You driving?”

“Yeah, aye.”

“Okay, then can you call me back when you've stopped?”

“No, it's alright. I can drive and—”

“Iain, you can't. It's illegal.”

“You're on the fuckin' hands-free, woman,” I said.

“There's an echo on the hands-free. So I know when I'm on, and I'm not on now. Pull over and call me back, okay?”

“For fuck's—”

She hung up. I wanted to pitch my mobile through the fucking windscreen, but I kept it subdued, worked through it like I was supposed to. Turned my lips in, gnawed on the bottom one as I looked for places to turn in. Up ahead, a Gala Bingo, so I swung into the car park, found a nice quiet space and killed the engine.

Annie was always on at us about the fucking mobile, but it was always her that called us on it. She wouldn't call the home number, knew that I never answered it and wouldn't check for messages like she always used to do. So she called us on the mobile, but wouldn't talk to us unless I was stationary.

And me being the soft twat I was, I did what she told us to do. Because if I did that, then there was a bigger chance of her talking to us in person the next time.

“I'm parked up. Happy now?”

“Yes,” she said. “I needed to talk to you, it's kind of important. To do with Shannon.”

“What's she into?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure? You can tell us, you know that. I'll sort it out, no muss, no fuckin' fuss. Drugs or lads, either one. It's easily taken care of, I just need names.”

“She's fine, Iain. Don't worry about that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Christmas.”

“What about it?”

“We need to sort out who she's spending it with this year.”

I looked out the side window, watching the cars go by on the main road. “I don't know. She lives with you.”

“And she hasn't seen you in ages.”

I sniffed. “I don't think she wants to, does she?”

“Iain—”

“Nah, it's fine. I don't mind. She lives with you, seems only right she spends Christmas with you. Y'know, you got that home all sorted out, I got my place —
our
place.”

“Your place.”

“My place, it's … “I breathed out, then laughed once. “Looks like you just left, actually, like. Haven't had a chance to get it sorted.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I could come round, bring presents an' that.”

“I don't think so.”

“It's no trouble, and I won't stay long. Just drop 'em off, like.”

“You know why that can't happen, Iain.”

“It's five minutes.”

“It doesn't matter.”

I wanted to scream at her. Wanted to ask her again why the fuck she thought making it legal was a good idea, even though I knew the answer. But I was a changed bloke, took a good long look at myself and did what I needed to do. I didn't need a fucking court-ordered injunction to keep us in line, punch or no punch.

“Fine,” I said. “You do what you fuckin' want, Annie. I'll dump the presents by the side of the road, you can come pick 'em up whenever, like a fuckin' ransom drop. Y'know, just in case we accidentally fuckin' see each other in person.”

“See, this is why I don't like doing this.”

“Fuckin' easy answer to that, then, isn't there?”

I cut off the call, turned off my mobile and slung it onto the dashboard. Soon as my mind stopped raging, I regretted it. But I didn't turn it back on. There was nothing to say to her. As I started the engine again, I realised that she hadn't been ringing to ask us about Christmas; she was
telling
us that Shannon would be spending it with her.