The Make (31 page)
Authors: Jessie Keane
Alfie felt exceedingly strange. He was staggering along beside the wall towards the garage. He thought that Gracie was there and that Gracie needed him. At least, that was what he
thought.
He could be wrong. She had been floating in front of him just a while ago. Maybe a day ago. Maybe an hour, or a second. Somewhen, anyway. He was . . . he was pretty stoned. Drax had given him some stuff, injected him. He had fought, he thought he had fought, but Drax was huge and powerful, too powerful for Alfie to fight off.
George came into his mind then, and the girl, Sandy . . . engaged? What was that? And then he could see angels floating down through the black lacy outlines of the trees around the house, but the angels weren’t good, they were evil, with fangs . . . they would kill him.
Oho,
bad
trip.
This was a trip, right? He hoped it was. Angels drifting down and becoming . . . snow. Just snow, falling on his face, melting on his eyes, his lips. Cool, cool water.
But Gracie needed him . . . didn’t she?
He could be wrong.
He could be heading for Deano, not Gracie.
He could be heading straight for hell.
Where was Lefty? Usually Lefty gave him the hits, not Deano.
Lefty could be waiting for him up ahead.
Or Gracie.
Or both of them. Who knew?
He was outside the open garage door now, looking in. It was like twilight in there, lit by one of those things you fix on the wall. He could see floating things, ghosts maybe, tins of paint sprouting arms and legs, and Gracie was there, Gracie with a halo of luminous green all around her – and that was Harry, he was
sure
that was Harry, although he looked so different. And that . . . that was Deano, with his head all bloody, moving towards Gracie and Harry. Gracie was holding Harry up. There was a big coffin, freezer,
something
, against the wall, and oh, this was really appropriate, he thought: look at what’s on top of this thing.
Alfie lurched forward, pushing,
stumbling
past Gracie and Harry, and picked up the gun.
It was all a dream, anyway. Not real. He wasn’t
really
holding a gun. Harry wasn’t really there with his hands bleeding and his head looking like a mad barber had been trimming it up. Gracie wasn’t really there either, with her green glow and her face twisted in desperation and anguish.
All a dream.
So it was okay to shoot Deano.
Perfectly
okay.
Alfie didn’t even take aim properly. He pointed the gun at Drax’s big torso, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. There was a sharp
click,
but the gun didn’t fire. Deano didn’t fall, Deano didn’t stop coming.
Was this a dream?
Alfie couldn’t be sure, but if it was a dream then it was a bad one. Deano turned on him like a raging bull, snatching the gun out of his hand. Harry and Gracie stood there, a perfect little tableau. Brother and sister, watching everything happen around them, powerless. Because now Deano had the gun.
Gracie watched Deano and thought:
But didn’t I just bash his fucking brains out?
He was weaving slightly, grimacing; she’d hurt him, but not badly enough. He was on his feet and he had the gun. She should have whacked him again while he was down, she could see that now. Too late. Harry was leaning against her; she knew that if she took her arm away he would simply fall to the floor. There was nothing she could do. Alfie was swaying on his feet, staring blearily around at them all as if unsure whether this was reality or nightmare.
‘You been keeping count, Harry?’ Deano said, screwing up his face. Blood was dribbling down from his head, splashing on to the immaculate camel-hair coat. He touched a hand to his scalp, then looked surprised at the blood on his hand. He stared with pure venom at Gracie, then at Harry. He pushed forward, pulling Alfie off-balance into the middle of the garage. ‘Get
in
here,’ he said roughly, as Alfie stumbled and almost fell. He pushed the three of them together and then he thrust the gun up underneath Harry’s chin. ‘You been keeping count, you little tosser? Because
I
have. There’re two shots left, and only one of them’s got firepower. You understand? So out of you two Doyle cunts, just
one
of you’s going to die tonight. So who’s it gonna be?’
He was aiming the gun at Harry, but now he drew back a pace, back towards the doorway, and had Gracie in his sights.
‘You hurt me,’ he said with a grimace. ‘You bashed my fucking head. Ruined my good coat.’
‘I wish I’d finished you off when I had the chance,’ said Gracie, looking death in the eye.
‘Well now you ain’t
got
the chance, bitch,’ he said, and pulled the trigger.
Both Gracie and Harry let out a shout. But again there was just the
click
of the empty chamber.
Now Drax was grinning through his pain, enjoying playing with them.
‘That’s it then,’ he said. ‘The last one’s got the bullet in it. So say goodnight, sweetheart.’ He levelled the gun at Gracie’s head.
Lorcan appeared behind Drax in the doorway just as he pulled the trigger. Lorcan lunged forward, shoving Drax off-balance. The gunshot made a huge noise, and the bullet whizzed by within inches of Gracie’s head. Lorcan followed Drax forward, knocking Gracie and Harry and Alfie aside. He grabbed Drax’s huge head in both hands and smacked it hard up against the garage wall, once, twice, three times.
Drax wavered on his feet. Fresh blood spurted out, spattering the garage wall. Lorcan smacked him up against the wall again. Again. All the while he was swearing, calling Drax a bastard, a fucker, he’d completely lost it.
‘Lorcan,’ said Gracie urgently, trying to grab his arm. ‘Enough.’
Drax was half-dead on his feet now, weaving about like a punch-drunk boxer. Lorcan kept whacking his head against the garage wall.
‘Enough!’ shouted Gracie again. Fuck, she didn’t want him getting landed with a murder charge. Drax was finished, she could see that. But Lorcan just kept on hitting him.
Lorcan butted the huge bowling-ball of Drax’s head once more up against the garage wall. There was a lot of blood now, and Drax was out of it. And
still
Lorcan was smacking him up against the wall, hammering that huge head into a pulp.
Gracie grabbed Lorcan’s arm and held on. His head swung round and he was looking at her with murderous rage in his eyes. Then his expression cleared. He was still. Finally, he straightened. Let Drax fall in a heap to the concrete floor. He stared down at Drax, then looked at Gracie, who slumped against the freezer, and Harry, who had sunk down on to the chair where he’d been held prisoner, and Alfie. Lorcan took a deep, calming breath, let the anger go.
‘Everyone all right?’ he asked them.
Gracie nodded shakily. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life. ‘We’re fine. What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Right back at you,’ said Lorcan; and it was then that they heard the sirens approaching.
Eventually the police arrived. They had a lot of trouble just getting through. And then – and Gracie had seen this coming, wasn’t she the pure cool brains of the outfit after all? – they were
all
arrested. Lorcan protested, heatedly, but Gracie didn’t. Alfie was too zonked out to care, and Harry too weak. As for Deano, he was as good as dead as far as she could tell.
The cops took one look at Deano spark out on the garage floor covered in blood, saw more blood on Lorcan’s hands and all up his arms, and drew rapid conclusions. The air ambulance was called, but it was debatable as to whether or not it could fly in these conditions. Certainly they’d never get an ambulance up these roads, but if push came to shove, they’d try. Lorcan told them quickly about Deano imprisoning Harry here, and that Deano mustn’t be allowed to get anywhere near Harry again because he would try and do him damage.
To the police, Deano didn’t look in a fit state to hurt a fly, much less a person. Lorcan however was a big bastard and a discernible threat. They put the handcuffs on Lorcan.
After what felt like a lifetime, the air ambulance arrived, along with the medics. Deano Drax was strapped into a stretcher with big foam head supports, and Harry was too. They were all taken to hospital, and there was a lot of form-filling, more questions,
endless
questions, and Gracie sat into the small hours of the morning in a bleak little waiting room, a policewoman at her side, while Lorcan, Alfie, Harry and Drax were all checked over.
Lorcan came into the room at about three a.m., still in the cuffs, with a bandaged hand and a policeman in tow.
‘They’re keeping Harry in,’ he told her.
‘Can I see him?’
‘Not right now. He’s badly dehydrated, they’ve got him on a drip.’
Gracie slumped, exhausted. All the adrenalin of the past few nightmare hours had surged in upon her and now she felt like someone had simply pulled her plug out. ‘When can we get out of here?’ she asked the policewoman.
‘Now,’ said the woman, standing up with a glance at her colleague. ‘We’d like you to come to the station.’
Gracie groaned and, leaning on Lorcan, followed the two officers out of the building into the snowy night. Outside the main hospital door, a weary-looking man with a head of mud-blond hair and a long, sober face came towards the two officers, accompanied by a skinny, hard-eyed female.
‘Take a seat just there, will you please?’ said the male policeman, and Lorcan and Gracie sat down just inside the door with the policewoman watching over them.
The male uniformed policeman was in a huddle just outside the door with the weary-looking man and woman. They were talking intently. They kept glancing over at Lorcan and Gracie. Finally, all three stepped inside the building and approached.
‘Good evening, sir. Miss,’ said the tired-looking man. He had that ‘I’ve-seen-it-all’ expression that both dodgers and enforcers of the law invariably wear. He showed them his ID. ‘I’m DI Sanderson. My colleagues tell me you’ve had a run-in with Deano Drax.’
‘You could say that,’ said Lorcan.
Sanderson nodded to the policeman. He uncuffed Lorcan.
‘Let’s talk about this down at the station, shall we?’
They climbed wearily into the back of an unmarked police car and the two plain-clothes officers got in the front and drove them to the station. They were escorted into a comfortable interview room, given hot drinks and sandwiches. Then the questions began, and continued for several hours while notes were assiduously taken.
Christmas Day was gone; now it was Boxing Day morning. Families were relaxing at home with their loved ones, while Gracie and Lorcan sat there and answered questions. Finally, when it seemed as if they were stuck in some weird twilight world where normality was a thing of the past, the weary-eyed male detective said: ‘I think that’s all for now.’
‘I’m worried about Drax being near Harry,’ said Gracie.
‘There’s an officer keeping watch on both of them. And Drax, as I understand it, isn’t going to be a danger to anyone for quite a while.’
He stared at Lorcan. Lorcan stared right back.
They all stood up.
‘We’ll get someone to take you both home,’ said the detective, and leaned across, offering his hand to Lorcan.
Lorcan hesitated, then took it.
‘Well done, sir,’ said the detective. He looked straight into Lorcan’s eyes. ‘And if anyone ever asks, I didn’t say that. All right?’
Without a word to each other, Gracie and Lorcan fell into bed back at the flat over the casino, in a state beyond exhaustion; and they slept until late in the afternoon. Gracie awoke to find herself wrapped around Lorcan’s body like a vine around a tree.
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised to find herself alive, and in bed with him. She pulled away.
‘Don’t,’ he said, and leaned in and kissed her.
Gracie pulled back.
‘What?’ asked Lorcan, enveloping her in his strength.
‘Why did you go out?’ she demanded as it all came flooding back over her like a cold, breath-snatching tide.
Lorcan stared at her. ‘Why did
you
?’
‘Because you’d fucking-well vanished and I thought Drax had you. That man’s
insane.
Answer the question. Why the
hell
did you go out like that? He put George in hospital. Attacked Mum’s front door with a chainsaw and tried to
abduct
me. You didn’t tell me where you were going. You had your phone switched off. You were ranting like a crazy man about Drax at the hospital. I panicked. What the hell was I supposed to think?’
‘That I’m a big boy and I don’t need a nursemaid?’ suggested Lorcan.
She thumped his chest. ‘
Don’t
take the piss. Why did you go out? Just tell me.’
‘Why did you?’
Gracie sat up. Lorcan yanked her back down.
‘You know what?’ she said. ‘You’re fucking infuriating.’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ he promised. ‘Later.’
‘No. Now.’
‘
Later
, Gracie.’
He was pulling her in closer, kissing her again, robbing her of all sense. Gracie didn’t fight too hard. It was so blissful, being in bed with him. She had forgotten how good it was. She relaxed and let it happen. He made love to her, and she reciprocated. Later, when they lay spent together, Gracie looked at his bandaged hand and thought back to him hammering Deano Drax’s big bald head against the garage wall. She shuddered. If a solidly made six-foot-four-inch man like Lorcan wanted to do you damage, exactly how much damage were you talking? She thought of the detective’s words, that Deano Drax was going to be out of it for some time.
Forever would be better
, she thought.
Deano Drax was worse than an animal. He was demented. He’d taken a grudge against one member of a family and worked it up into a deadly vendetta against them all. She thought of what he had done to Alfie, and felt a wave of bile come up into her throat.
‘Let it go, Gracie,’ said Lorcan, lying back with his eyes shut. ‘We’re all okay. That’s what counts.’
No use asking how he’d known where her thoughts had strayed. They’d always had that facility, to pick up on each other’s concerns, even before they were put into words.
‘Drax will recover,’ she said in a small voice, cuddling in closer against him. ‘He’ll come back at us.’
‘That detective said he was going to be doing a lot of time,’ said Lorcan.
‘How long? Ten years? That’s eight with good behaviour, then he’ll be out again. Do you really think he’s going to forget this? Forget we crossed him?’
‘Leave it for now, Gracie. No good fretting about the future. Let’s handle the present first, okay?’
‘Tell me why you went out.’
‘Later,’ he said, and yawned, and pulled her in tight against him.
Lorcan slept; Gracie couldn’t.
They ate dinner in the casino restaurant, then Lorcan took her hand and led her out to the well-lit car park at the back of the building.
‘I don’t want to go out,’ she said, hanging back. She felt safe up in the flat with him; right now she didn’t want outside company, she just craved recovery time – and him.
‘I know. We’re not,’ he said, and walked on, taking her with him.
Gracie gave up and followed.
‘Just got something to show you,’ he said.
‘Can’t you just
tell
me?’ complained Gracie, shivering out here in the frosty air without a coat.
‘Nope. Got to show you. Look.’
And there was her Mercedes, sitting there on the cobbles with a big red bow strung across its bonnet, sporting a new set of tyres and with its silver surface gleaming in the overhead sodium lights.
‘Oh my God,’ gasped Gracie.
‘They valeted the inside too,’ said Lorcan. ‘Worked on Christmas, to get it done.
This
is why I went out, and I couldn’t tell you where I was going because it would have spoiled the surprise. I was going to present you with it when I got back. The garage was running behind with it, I had to wait around. So I was very late. And when I got back, you were gone.’
Gracie opened her mouth to speak and felt tears well up instead.
‘Hey,’ said Lorcan in surprise, pulling her close. ‘Gracie? Don’t cry.’
‘It’s just all so stupid,’ Gracie managed to get out. ‘I didn’t care about the bloody
car
, Lorcan.’
‘You were so upset when the tyres were slashed.’
‘Yeah, but that was before . . .’ Gracie’s voice tailed away. She was so confused. She felt like the past few years had been a strange, exotic dream.
Things
had become so important to her in that life. The glitzy apartment. The shiny, top-end, luxury car. Spa holidays. Five-star, all the way.
But now . . .
Oh
now
she was beginning to see that there were other things that mattered so much more. Her family, for instance. The family she had lost touch with and now she could get to know again, if she wanted to. Sweet, gentle Harry, and big-mouthed, lovable George, and even her mother, even Suze, who in Gracie’s opinion had shit for brains but she was
still
Gracie’s mother, there was still some feeling there.
‘You like it then?’ Lorcan was looking at her.
An icy swirl of snowflakes hit them. Lorcan pulled her in closer.
‘Yeah,’ said Gracie, half laughing and half sobbing too. ‘I like it.’
Lorcan stared at her. ‘
Now
why are you crying, you silly bitch?’ he asked, and Gracie laughed and cried all the harder.