Trauma (20 page)

'I fuckin' telt him fuckin' straight, I'm no doin' any more of these fuckin' jobs.'

'Fuckin' right,' replied the other man.

Three men in their early twenties sat at a table near the cigarette machine. They would burst into laughter periodically and Main guessed by their glances that some joke had been made at the expense of the students. He could sense the animosity between the two factions. There didn't have to be a specific reason. Students were like a red rag to a bull to certain groups of other young people. One of the girls got up from the student tables and went to the lavatory. She had to pass the table where the three men were sitting. One, the tallest, dressed in a leather jacket and denim jeans leaned across and said something to her. Main did not catch what it was but the girl reddened and the man's companions burst into laughter. Main looked at the student tables where he saw one boy start to get up angrily. He was restrained by his friends. 'Let it go Neil, let it go,' he was advised. 'It isn't worth it.'

Sound advice, thought Main. The boy looked no match for the man in the leather jacket no matter how sound his cause. The girl returned from the toilet, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the three on the way as she passed. Nothing more was said and the students got up to leave soon afterwards.

As they passed out through the door a thickset young man in a denim jacket came into the pub. He had red hair, cut short with such a well defined shave line over his ears that he must have had it cut that day, thought Main. The man looked around him, spotted the three men and joined them at the table.

Main was just about to lose interest when he heard the newcomer say, 'I see that lying old bastard McKirrop's snuffed it,'

Main froze at the mention of the name. He had turned back to the bar but he could see what was happening behind him in the bar mirror.

'Who?' asked one of the others.

'The old wino in the bone-yard.'

Main's throat was tight with apprehension and anticipation. Just as he had been on the verge of giving up hope, someone had mentioned McKirrop's name. His fingers were wrapped round his glass but nothing moved. He remained completely immobile as he strained to hear every word that was being said.

'No kidding?' said the man in the leather jacket.

'It was on the telly. Some geezer smashed his head in.'

'Serves him right.'

'Yeah, that old bastard could have gotten us into real deep shit.’

'Well, he isn't going to get anyone into trouble now.’

The four fell silent for a few moments before one asked, 'What else did they say?'

'Not much,' shrugged the red haired man. 'Just went on about him being the geezer who put up such a brave fight in the boneyard.'

'What a bunch of crap!' sneered the man in the leather jacket. 'Anything else?'

'Just that the police weren't getting anywhere.'

This brought laughter from the others.

Main could feel the blood pounding in his temples. He’d come out hoping to pick up a rumour, any snippet of information but he’d hit the jackpot! These four were the actual men he was looking for. But Satanists? These yobs? It didn't make sense. Unless of course, they were just the hired help and they’d been paid by others to do the grave robbing. That would make more sense. But where was the sense in all of this?

Main recognised that somewhere along the line he had decided that Satanism and witchcraft were middle class 'pastimes', like tennis and skiing - the province of the white collar worker, educated people but maybe this was wrong. The truth was that he had no idea what sort of people were attracted to the occult. One thing was for certain however, whatever these four were, they knew something about the disappearance of Simon's body.

Main's eyes narrowed as he watched the men in the mirror. In his mind’s eye he saw them lift his son's body out of his grave. The thought made him ball his fists and close his eyes tightly while he fought to muster self control over the urge to create mayhem.

'Are you all right' asked a female voice. There was no real concern in it. Main opened his eyes and said to the barmaid, 'Yes, thank you, fine. Just a bit of a headache.'

The girl looked at him suspiciously and Main sensed that she was wondering whether or not to summon the manager. He managed a smile in the hope of changing her mind. 'Migraine,' he said. 'It's the bane of my life.'

'Well . . . if you're sure you're all right?'

'I'm fine.'

The girl went about her business but kept glancing back at him every few moments. He saw her confide something to another customer who immediately looked in his direction. The customer said something that made the barmaid laugh. The sound made him think of a duck flying across the marshes.

One of the men had left the table to go to the Gents. This gave Main his plan of action. He would wait until the smallest of the four did the same. He would follow him and try to get whatever he could out of him. They were all drinking beer. He shouldn't have to wait too long. Just as long as the silly barmaid did not try to bring some excitement into her dreary life by drawing too much attention to him. He noticed her looking at him again and summoned up another smile.

Main's target was the third of the men to go to the gents. Main followed but had to stop himself from tackling the man immediately when he suddenly realised there was another man already in the toilet. He had overlooked this obvious possibility and alarm bells rang in his head.

Main pretended to look at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair until the unwanted man left. As soon as the door swung shut Main turned round and walked up quietly behind the yob who was still urinating at the wall. The man seemed to sense that something was amiss and stopped whistling. He had half turned his head to the side to look round when Main pushed his face hard up against the tiled wall and held it there.

'What the fu. ..'

The heel of Main's hand sunk into the yob's cheek making speech impossible although his eyes reflected the fear he felt.

Main was fighting an almost overwhelming desire to cause pain to the man he held. He wanted him to suffer. He wanted to smash his fist into this man's face and keep doing it. With the greatest of difficulty, he held back and hissed through his teeth, 'I am the father of the boy you dug up you shit faced little bastard! Start talking or so help me, I'll turn you into a basket case. Where is my son?'

Main relaxed the pressure of his grip so that he could speak.

'You've got it all wrong Mister!'

Main re-applied the pressure. 'Wrong, my arse!' he snarled. 'I heard what you were saying back there about McKirrop. Start talking!'

'All right, all right ... We were there that night, but you've got it wrong. You've got it all wrong.'

'Talk! You bastard.'

'I can't! You're hurting me!'

Main let the yob move away from the wall. It was a mistake. As he straightened up, the man brought his right knee up into Main's groin and Main doubled up in pain on the floor. Just at that moment the door swung open and another man from the table came in, the man in the leather jacket.

'What the fuck’s going on?' he demanded of his companion who was holding the side of his face and standing over Main.'

'This guy says he's the kid's father.'

'What kid? What are you talking about?'

'The kid's grave in the cemetery for Christ's sake!'

'Jesus.'

The talk of Simon gave Main new strength. Despite his pain he launched himself at the yob who’d kneed him and caught him in the midriff. The man fell backwards with a gasp on to the wet floor with Main on top of him. 'Where is he?' rasped Main through gritted teeth. Where is Simon?'

'You've got it all wrong pal,' said the man in the leather jacket but Main persisted. 'Where is he?' he repeated, grabbing the yob on the floor by the throat.

'Get him off me for Christ's sake!' squealed the man.

The man who was standing kicked Main hard in the ribs. Main rolled over in pain and took another kick, this time to the side of his face. Pain exploded in his head but he still rose above it and struggled unsteadily to his feet to charge in again. 'Where ... is ... he?'

'The bastard's off his head,' complained the first yob; his voice had become high and almost girl-like with fear.

Leather jacket caught Main with a vicious punch as he came in and again Main fell back. He saw his assailant grab a bottle of toilet cleaner which was perched on the window sill and through his pain he thought that it wasn't going to make much of a weapon; it was plastic and soft. As he struggled to his feet the contents of the bottle were flung at him and caught him full in the face. In an instant, his eyes were filled with bleach.

Main let out a scream of pain and heard the door bang as the yobs ran out. His eyes were screwed tight shut but there was no escape from the progressive burning of his eyeballs. He stumbled towards where he thought the wash basins were and groped wildly for the taps. Everything seemed hard, unforgiving and elusive. He found the top of one tap and water started to flow. Main flushed it maniacally up into his face, fearing that he was about to lose his sight. He was only dimly aware of other people having come into the lavatory.

The nightmare inside Main's head was taking him to the very limits of endurance but he knew that he must not pass out. He had to keep flushing the chemical out of his eyes if he was to have any chance at all of keeping his sight. He had never known such pain. His eyes felt as if they were on fire and the pressure inside his head was slowly pushing them out of their sockets. The pungent smell of chlorine was catching his throat, making him splutter; his breathing was uneven through shock. His hands frantically sluiced water up into his face.

Very slowly the pain started to subside and Main became aware of voices in the background. They had been there all along but the fear of going blind had blocked everything else out of Main's reckoning. At first it was just a hubbub but then he made out one voice that was louder. 'What the hell's going on?' it asked.

Main continued flushing his eyes. His breathing was returning to normal.

'I asked you a question!' said the voice.

'Bleach ... in my eyes,' said Main haltingly.

'That was a stupid thing to do,' said the voice.

Oh Christ! thought Main. He couldn't grace the comment with a reply.

'Just look at the mess in here!' exclaimed the voice.

'If only I fucking could!' exploded Main as the sheer crassness of the comment reached him.

'How on earth did you come to get bleach in your eyes?' continued the questioner, backing off a little.

'Someone threw it at me,' answered Main through gritted teeth.

'Bloody hell,' replied the man. 'I'm not having this sort of thing in my pub. I run a respectable establishment. This sort of thing is not on!'

'Oh good,' said Main sourly. The pain had subsided sufficiently to let temper take hold but he continued with the sluicing.

'I haven't had to have the police here once in all the time I've been licensee and I'm not starting now. Pull yourself together and get out of here. I don't want your sort in my place.'

'Maybe we should call an ambulance John?' suggested a voice from the background but the suggestion was half-hearted as if not to offend.

'I'm not having any ambulances either. You! Get out of here! Do you hear?'

Main felt the hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off to continue cleaning his eyes.'

'Did you hear what I said?'

Main raised his head from the sink for the first time and paused for a moment to let the water drain from his face. He turned his head slowly and opened one eye cautiously. His vision was blurred but he could see and that was all that mattered. The landlord's angry face swam into view. He was a fat man with heavy jowls and a large brown wart on the side of his turned-up nose but Main thought him the most handsome sight he had ever seen. He straightened up and started dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He was a foot taller than the landlord who took a pace backwards.

The man's voice took on a more conciliatory tone. 'I just want you out of here. I'm not going to call the police or ask you to pay for the damage; I just want you out of here. All right?'

Main looked at him sourly but felt good inside. He could see. He started to leave without saying anything more. The small group of men near the door parted like the Red Sea, one of them brushing water off his jacket which Main had sprayed him with when he smoothed back his wet hair. As he left the bar he heard the barmaid's voice telling everyone how she suspected there was something odd about 'that man'. He had been behaving strangely earlier. 'There's a lot of weirdos about these days,' ventured another voice before the door finally closed behind him and Main found himself out in the quiet street and the darkness which caressed him like a friend.