Hit and Run (15 page)

With his mind blank and Jeanie licking his hand, he flicked to the number. Pressed ‘call’. Stared at the steering wheel listening to the ring. The sound was muffled through the bandages over his ear. Sounded like he was deep underwater, trying to make contact with the surface.

Five rings then an abusive answer-machine message. He hung up. He stared out the window. The firemen were beginning to get the blaze under control, but the house was a wreck of sodden, burnt wood and plaster, charred masonry, wisps of burning debris fluttering up into the sky, plumes of black smoke winking out the stars.

What would he do if someone destroyed his home and everything in it? What would the Mackies do?

He noticed the crack in the windscreen. The one Rose had pointed out all those days ago. It was bigger now, or was he imagining it? No, definitely bigger, not just a small crystal star, it had grown into a sword shape with one long blade pointing down towards the bonnet, indicating the place of impact. If he didn’t do something, the whole windscreen would split eventually.

He called Adele. That same submarine buzz in his ear, as if his brain was swimming in syrup. Five rings then her recorded voice. He hung up.

The crack in the windscreen seemed to be growing in front of his eyes, dancing in the flickering light from the blaze. He reached out and touched it, imagined pushing his fists through the glass to the outside world. There was a sting of electricity in his fingers at the feel of cold glass. He examined his hands. The palms were a mess of scars and scabs.

He turned the key and the engine coughed into life. Mum’s reliable old banger, still going after all this time. At this rate it would go on for ever, outlive him. But he had to get that crack fixed. When all this was over, he would do it then. Look after Mum’s old car.

His hands were shaking as he touched the steering wheel and the handbrake. The engine’s stuttering life mingled with his own. He pictured Frank Whitehouse lying in the road, crimson in the tail lights. The car revved and jolted as he threw it into gear and turned round, heading back towards town.

The traffic lights seemed to sparkle and shift as he drove, the headlights of each approaching car dazzling and hurting his eyes, like staring at the sun. He concentrated on his hands touching the wheel. He hunkered down and blinked out at the night.

It wasn’t far to drive. Weird to think these two families lived so close to each other, yet in such different neighbourhoods. One mixing with solicitors and councillors, the other with scum, one at the top of the pile, the other trying to get there. Separated by less than a couple of miles in the Southside of a city that had perfected the us-and-them society. One dead man, one shooting, one slaughtered dog, one torched home. And more to come.

He turned into Blacket Place. Dark, quiet. No one on the street. He parked across the road from the house. Switched the engine off and listened to the ticking of the metal as it lost heat.

Jeanie had her nose in his lap. He stroked her a few times, felt the ribs.

‘Stay here, girl.’

He opened the door and she shot out, scrambling across him in a fluster and darting across the road. She was squatting for a piss by the time he locked the car door. He clicked his fingers and she came, then he turned into the Whitehouses’ drive.

The same room light was still on, the curtains closed. As he approached he realised that the front door was wide open. He stopped. No activity, no sign of life. Just an open door.

He walked up the steps to the doorway and stopped. Peered inside. Nothing. He stood for a moment listening to the pulse in his brain. Jeanie sniffed at some plants by the door.

Then he heard something. A scrape and a muffled thump. A voice, a female voice. Not talking, not crying out, but something else, an insistent kind of moan. The sound drew him inside as if mesmerised. He stood in the hallway and moved his head to work out where the noise was coming from. Damn these stupid bandages over his ears. He heard the clack of Jeanie’s claws on the floor, then it stop as she reached the rug. He listened again for the noise. There, to his left. It was coming from the room. The door was closed and light seeped out from underneath, splaying short fingers into the hallway.

He walked towards the door. The noise got louder. Definitely a woman moaning. In distress. He swallowed hard and put his hand on the doorknob. Turned it slowly and pushed. Stepped warily into the room.

Adele.

She was lying on the floor, on her side, tied to a chair with some kind of electrical cable. She was facing the other way, so she hadn’t seen him. He looked round the room. No one else. Everything seemed normal except for a table lamp lying on the rug next to a glass of spilt red wine.

Billy scurried over and touched her on the shoulder. She squealed, flinching away from his touch. She whipped her head round and her eyes widened. She had something stuffed in her mouth, gaffer-taped in place.

‘It’s OK,’ Billy said. ‘I’ll untie you. Hold on.’

She increased her efforts to speak, but Billy couldn’t make out anything.

‘Wait,’ he said.

He ripped the tape off her face and pulled at the material till it came out of her mouth. Socks. She gasped and wheezed, sucking in air and working her jaw. She had a wild look.

‘They took Ryan. They came in here and beat me up and took him.’

The Mackies. Billy didn’t need to ask.

‘We have to get him back,’ she said.

Billy fumbled with the knot at the back of the chair, the thick rubberised cable claggy in his sweaty palms. It seemed to take for ever, his hands trembling and slipping. Eventually he loosened the knot.

Adele whipped her hands out and began working on the knot around her ankles. She pulled it free then rolled away from the chair and clambered to her feet. She swept her hair back from her face. Billy saw bruising around her eyes and cheeks, a trickle of blood from her nose.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Never mind me, I have to get Ryan.’ Her voice was fragile, close to breaking. Billy wanted to reassure her, but no words came.

‘I don’t know what to do.’ She talked fast, as if to herself. ‘They said no police or they’d kill him. This is all about Dean. They said he set fire to their home.’

Billy nodded. ‘I’ve just come from there, it’s gutted.’

‘This is crazy. Why are me and Ryan even mixed up in this?’

‘I said you should’ve left.’ He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

She stared at him. ‘Is that supposed to help?’

‘Sorry, fuck. I don’t know what I’m saying. I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘This is all for Dean’s benefit. He was supposed to come home and find me.’

‘Where is he?’

‘How should I know? Him and those two pricks went out, probably to one of his stupid brothels.’

‘What else did the Mackies say? What do they want?’

Adele was shaking her head, her whole body shivering. Billy wanted to wrap her in his arms, feel the warmth of her against him, smell her hair.

‘They just said this had to end. They’ll be in touch. Billy, what if they hurt him?’

She started crying, thick, heavy sobs. She gasped for air between, hands to her face, covering the bruises.

Billy put a tentative hand on her arm. ‘It’s OK.’

She shook him off. ‘Don’t say that, it’s not OK. I don’t know what to do.’

Billy stared at her, the light in the room too harsh, everything too sharp. Jeanie poked her head in the doorway then went away again. Billy tried to get his brain to work, tried to cajole the amphetamines into firing his neurons.

‘I’m going to sort this,’ he said quietly.

She stared at him like his head had flipped open.

‘How the hell are you going to do that?’

Billy lifted out his phone. ‘I have Wayne Mackie’s number.’

‘So? Are you going to ask politely to have Ryan back?’

Billy shook his head and looked at his phone. It was half two in the morning.

‘When did the Mackies leave?’

Adele was exasperated. ‘I don’t know, maybe quarter of an hour ago.’

‘I have a plan.’

‘You’re out of your mind. It’s got nothing to do with you, this whole thing.’

‘It’s got everything to do with me.’

‘How do you figure that?’

Billy stopped for a moment. Considered. ‘It just does. Do you trust me?’

‘I hardly know you.’

He moved towards her, put his hands on her shoulders. She let him. He looked at her beautiful eyes, red from crying. Her beaten face, already swollen and discoloured. She didn’t deserve any of this. No one deserved this. Except him. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

‘This looks fucking cosy.’

Billy felt Adele’s muscles flinch at the voice. She jumped back from him and turned to the doorway. Billy turned too, already knowing what he was going to see.

Dean and his two morons were standing in the room, faces flush with booze. Dean took in the upturned chair and electrical cabling like a snake on the floor.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ He spoke to Adele, pointing at Billy. ‘And what the fuck is this cunt doing here?’

Adele ran over to him, stopping before touching him, wary.

Dean and the goons were eyeballing Billy.

‘The Mackies have taken Ryan,’ Adele said.

It took a second to filter through, Dean switching from aggressive to outraged.

He stared at Adele as if she was talking a foreign language.

‘Wayne, Jamie and a third guy. They tied me up and beat me, then took Ryan out his bed and left.’

Dean looked at the chair again, the cable, Adele’s discoloured face.

‘When was this?’

‘Quarter of an hour ago,’ Billy said.

Dean turned on him. ‘What the fucking fuck has it got to do with you?’

Billy felt suddenly weak and his knees began to buckle. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell.

‘I came to check on Adele. I found her in here tied to the chair.’

‘You must have a fucking death wish, coming round here,’ Dean said. ‘You look halfway dead already.’

Billy felt lightning searing through his head, making him close his eyes and scrunch his face up. Just keep going, Billy boy. He opened his eyes and thought for a moment he saw a red flash in the corner. He snorted air into his lungs, searching for a burning smell, but nothing. He felt like sleeping for a hundred years, just closing his eyes for ever. But he had to keep going, had to see this through. Just a little while longer and he could rest.

He looked at Adele. He could still fix this. She needed him. No one had ever needed him before. It felt good. He rubbed at the lump on his forehead then scratched at his sweat-soaked bandages.

The sound of ringing. The house phone. On a table next to the sofa.

Dean walked over, keeping an eye on Billy. Adele followed in his wake, staring at the handset. ‘Dean,’ she pleaded. ‘Just do whatever they want.’

He raised a warning hand. ‘Let me handle it.’

He picked up, didn’t speak. Listened for a moment.

‘You cunts are dead, you do know that?’ His voice calm and even.

More silence, his face giving nothing away.

‘Yeah, well, you started it.’

Gap.

‘Don’t give me that fucking horseshit.’

It was like he was conducting a business deal. The goons were eyeing him intently.

‘Of course I know it. Why there?’

Pause. More silence in the room. Billy looked at Adele, her face full of fear.

‘OK.’ Dean hung up.

Adele grabbed his hand. ‘Well?’

Dean shook her off and walked to the door. Adele grabbed him.

‘Dean, what did they say?’

‘We’re going to meet them, get Ryan back.’

‘Now?’

‘In an hour.’

‘Where?’

‘Up Salisbury Crags.’ Dean stopped and turned. ‘I think it’s those cunts’ idea of a joke. They want to meet above where Frank’s body was found. Fucking dickheads. We’re going to be ready for ’em, though.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What do you think? We’re going to destroy those cocky little shits.’

‘But they’ll have Ryan with them.’

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.’

Billy heard his own voice. ‘Maybe you should go easy on the violence and concentrate on getting the boy back.’

Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Are you still fucking here?’ He turned to his thugs. ‘Throw him the fuck out, and make sure he gets the message not to come back.’

Billy backed away and raised his hands as the two guys grabbed him and hustled him towards the doorway.

‘Leave him,’ Adele said, without much conviction. ‘He’s only trying to help.’

Dean grabbed her arm. ‘Want to go with your fucking boyfriend, or want to come with us to make sure your son stays alive?’

The taller of the two goons threw a light punch into Billy’s kidneys, enough to make him cry out and make his legs buckle. They carried him between them, his shoes scuffing the floor as they dragged him out of the front door and threw him down the steps. He landed in a cloud of gravel dust, slamming his back off the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs.

The two men sauntered down the steps and began kicking at him, mainly around the fleshy parts, his arse and legs, his stomach. He curled up into himself and covered his head with his arms, wondering if his skull might burst with the strain.

Before he knew it they were done. Only a dozen or so blows. Just a warning. He ached all over, struggled to get air into his lungs. He felt familiar waves of pain course through his body.

‘You heard the boss,’ said the shorter guy as he straightened his jacket and spat on the ground. ‘If we see you again, you’re a dead man, you hear?’

Billy managed to nod as he attempted to get up. He wondered where Jeanie was, if she was still in the house.

He turned and looked about. The two guys had already gone back inside and closed the door. The night was sickly and warm, the air a thick blanket over everything. He strained his ears. Eventually he heard a familiar snuffling and turned to see Jeanie cowering by the front gate.

‘It’s OK.’ He got on to his knees, wheezing.