Warned Off (11 page)

They
sedated me and I remember little of the first couple of days in hospital. On
the third day things had eased enough to move me from pain-killing injections
onto tablets. On day four I asked if I could have a bath and they took so long
deciding they must have assembled the whole area health board to discuss it.

When I closed the bathroom door the
first thing I saw was a stranger in the mirror.

The image you carry of yourself in your
mind’s eye is so solid that even age seems to change it only imperceptibly. To
see someone you don’t recognise using your body is a hell of a shock. The first
reaction is one of panic and my brain took some time bringing things under
control again.

I stood there for a long time, staring.
The mirror was six feet away. After some minutes fixed to the spot I moved
closer. I stopped and looked at myself from six inches.

The damage was bad. There was nothing on
my face that looked like skin in either colour or texture.

It was made up of patches: livid pink,
blood red and colours in between. There were small areas of tiny blisters and
larger areas of egg-size blisters. My forehead and cheekbone on the right side
were badly grazed and my nose and lips had swollen to twice their normal size.

On the remote islands of skin that had
survived grew a week’s stubble. It flourished on the large sections of
uninjured skin on my neck, making me even uglier.

I ran a warm bath and lay a long time in
it. I thought about damage. Permanent damage ... temporary damage ... Damage to
my face, my ego, my spirit, my supply of courage ... Well, I could hardly claim
to have used any of that which, in the normal way of things, would be good
because I would have plenty left.

But I didn’t have. I was frightened. My
memory kept dragging me back to the pain. I tried to make myself think of other
things, but I couldn’t because that cold logical section of my mind wanted to
make me confront reality.

It wasn’t a game. It had never been, I
had only thought it was. I’d planned to be the hero, the one who’d get justice
for himself and other victims.
Too many movies, Eddie ... You’ve seen too
many. In real life you were like a child. Helpless, pathetic. They just took
you and did what they wanted and you never raised a finger. You’re out of your
league, Eddie. They’ll kill you next time. Give it up. Go back to breaking
horses
.

Conscience speaking. Logic. The Real Me.
Whoever ... I knew he was right. Knew I’d never go back. Never try to find the
men who did this, never find Kruger.

No licence. No career.

But I’d be alive. I’d be breathing.
Nobody would be coming looking for me to scald my face again. A deep groaning
sigh escaped from my body, taking me by surprise. Tears welled and a terrible
weariness came over me. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life.

Over the next couple of days I came as
close as I ever have to total despair. There was plenty pain and lots of
self-hatred.

I spoke little and ignored those who
spoke to me. I criticised the nurses, wouldn’t eat, was sullen with doctors;
when most patients were in bed I’d go to the day room to be alone and if anyone
came in I’d leave and lock myself in a toilet cubicle, staying there for hours.

At night I lay thinking how much of a
bastard I was being, how big a coward. I should have phoned McCarthy, found out
if Harle was okay. I knew the longer I delayed the call the harder it would be
to make.

Finally I couldn’t live with it any
longer. I rang McCarthy and told him where I was.

Two hours later he was sitting by my bed
trying to hide the shock at seeing my face. ‘You don’t look too good.’

‘Don’t feel too good.’

He stared. ‘How long’ve you been in
here?’

‘A week.’ I avoided his eyes.

‘A week!’ the whole ward heard it. I
glared at him. ‘For God’s sake stop shouting.’

He leaned forward, lowering his head and
whispering harshly, ‘Don’t tell me to stop shouting! I get  a call from
the hire company that the police have found your car abandoned in Lambourn, I’m
wondering whether you’re dead or alive and now you tell me you’ve been here a
week and you haven’t rung me before now. Why?’

I looked away again. ‘I’ll tell you
sometime.’

‘You’ll tell me now!’

Slowly I turned back to face him. ‘Mac,
sometime, if I ever feel human again, I’ll tell you why I didn’t contact you
... I’ve spent a hellish time in here, it doesn’t look like getting any better
and I don’t need you making me feel worse than I already do.’

He shook his head and sighed, ‘Okay.’ He
said, sitting back and crossing his legs, ‘Can you tell me what
happened
then?’ There was a note of sarcasm.

I told him, though when it came to the
scalding I felt my voice go and had to stop and compose myself. McCarthy
listened in silence.

When I finished I couldn’t look him in
the eye but I had to tell him, forcing it past a lump in my throat, ‘Mac, I’m
finished ... I’m sorry ... I’m sorry, but it’s not there ... I can’t cut it
...’

He leaned forward and squeezed my arm.
‘This isn’t the time to decide, Eddie. I know that’s the way you feel just now
but you’ll get better, then you’ll want to come back. You’ll want revenge.’

I shook my head, still avoiding his
eyes. Harle was in my mind and I wanted to ask Mac to go and find out if he was
still okay but I knew that would be me getting involved again, so I kept quiet.

McCarthy persevered with the pep talk
but soon saw it was pointless.

The weight of the whole business settled
so heavily on me it felt almost physical. I couldn’t talk any more. McCarthy,
who’d just started one of his nosebleeds, went home.

I
had a bad night and didn’t sleep till dawn. The nurse left me undisturbed
through the morning and when I woke around noon the gloom had lifted from me.

Much of the pain in my face had subsided
and I felt altogether brighter. I wondered if that was due to me telling Mac I
was pulling out, but as soon as I considered it my conscience niggled and I
wondered if I’d done the right thing.

Thoughts of Harle still crowded me. I
had to deal with it. I rang Cranley. His voice snapped down the line, ‘Malloy!
Where are you?’

‘In a call box and I don’t have much
change so ...’

‘Where are you, Malloy?’

‘Never mind that, just tell me Harle’s
all right.’

‘Harle is not all right!  And
you’re the man I want to talk to about it.’

‘Where is he?’

‘That’s what I want to ask you. Now get
to this station or tell me where you are!”

My gut sank. ‘You took that guard off
him, didn’t you?’ I asked quietly.

‘Listen, Malloy ...’

‘You took the guard off him, Cranley,
didn’t you, you stupid arrogant bastard.’

‘Malloy!’ He was almost screaming. ‘I’ll
have you for this!’

I rang McCarthy and asked him to come
and get me. I told the nurse I would be discharging myself and started getting
my things together.

When McCarthy arrived he took off his
hat, slung it carelessly on the bottom of the bed and combed his hair back with
his open chubby fingers. ‘How goes it?’ he said. ‘You look better.’

‘Thanks, I feel better.’

‘And you’re coming back for another go?’

I nodded.

‘Knew you would,’ he said smugly.

‘How’s that?’

‘I just knew.’ He smiled and tapped his
nose. ‘You’re a born rebel. Angry young man. You’ll always bounce back, always
want something to fight against, it’s your nature.’

‘Good at summing people up, are you?’

He smiled again. ‘Never been wrong yet.’

‘I’m glad you’re in such a positive
mood, Mac, because I want to ask a favour.’

‘Ask, I can only say no.’

‘Let’s talk in the car. I’ve spent
enough time in here.’

I strapped on the seat belt and opened
the window. The breeze cooled my face as McCarthy pulled away.

‘Mac, what would you say to a gun?’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘If I wanted one.’

‘No way.’

‘Why not?’

‘No way, Eddie, it’s not on.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s going too far. It’s
illegal.’

‘So’s murder.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean, for God’s sake! The
two guys who attacked me, who killed Danny Gordon and probably Alan Harle, it’s
called murder.’

‘That’s their problem. They’ll have to
face the consequences.’

‘When? After they’ve killed me or
somebody else, maybe even you?’

He was getting upset, shaking his head
and rubbing the steering wheel with his left hand.

‘No, Eddie, no. I’ll get you anything
else I can but no gun. I’d rather you chucked it altogether.’

‘Mac, listen!’ I clutched his arm but he
jerked it free and kept staring at the road ahead muttering, ‘No gun, Eddie, no
gun.’

I’d been pretty sure he wouldn’t wear it
anyway but I had to try. At least it made him a bit more amenable to my other
requests: a faster car, more money and a renewal of the promise to help me get
my licence back. After half an hour without me mentioning guns I think a trace
of suspicion that he’d been conned into the other concessions was creeping up
on him.

Searching for something to take his mind
off the subject I suddenly remembered that the last time I’d spoken to Harle
he’d given me a tip for the Triumph Hurdle.

‘Mac, did Roscoe’s horse win the
Triumph?’

I watched his memory rewind the weeks.
‘No, thank God, it didn’t.’

‘Why thank God?’

‘Because it would have been another
embarrassment for us with Perlman.’

‘You don’t honestly believe this guy
exists?’

‘Maybe I don’t but what do I tell the
senior steward? We’re dealing with a ghost?’

‘You can tell him that Perlman is
Kruger. If he has trouble remembering the guy just remind him he took my licence
away because he couldn’t nail Kruger. Then you can tell him that Kruger and
Roscoe are running some major scam, probably from Roscoe’s place. Whether it
involves heroin, horse-doping or both I don’t know yet but I’m sure as hell
going to find out.’

He smiled. ‘You’ve changed your tune
from yesterday.’

‘Blame it on that silly bastard Cranley.
I get my face cooked for saving Harle and he goes and lets Kruger’s men get
him. Wouldn’t that wind
you
up?’

McCarthy shrugged. ‘Suppose it would.’

‘Damn right it would!’

‘Anyway, you’re back in the game, that’s
the main thing. Back in pitching.’

We drove in silence for a minute then I
thought back to Cheltenham. ‘I take it the dope test on Roscoe’s Champion
Hurdle winner was okay?’ I asked.

‘Yes, why?’

‘It would have been a hell of a race to
pull off if Kruger had perfected his dope.’

McCarthy’s foot eased involuntarily off
the gas pedal. ‘Don’t say that, Eddie, for God’s sake.’

‘There’s got to be a possibility. What
would the chances be of having tests done on every one of Roscoe’s runners from
now on?’

He shook his head. ‘Virtually
impossible. We’d be openly declaring our suspicion without any evidence to
justify it.’

‘Okay then, couldn’t you have one of
your men visit Roscoe’s? They must have something set up there. Did you know
Skinner was Roscoe’s private vet?’

He nodded, pondering. ‘Maybe we should
arrange a visit, maybe we should ...’

It was late afternoon when Mac dropped
me at the cottage. He came inside just to make sure I had no unwelcome guests, then
left me with the address of his ex-colleague who’d just retired. The man lived
in Cheltenham and Mac told me to call there next morning and pick up my ‘new’
car which was this guy’s Jockey Club company car.

The furniture was dusty. Mooching
around, half-heartedly I vacuumed and opened windows. I felt claustrophobic.
I’d been cooped up in hospital too long. I needed fresh air and exercise.

Outside, in the dusk, I chopped wood
till I was tired, which was quickly after lying around so long. Sitting on a pile
of logs I breathed hard and waited to recover energy enough to chop some more.
But the longer I sat the weaker grew my arms and legs and I accepted it would
take a few days to get back to full strength. I put away the axe and went
inside. When the water was warm enough I ran a bath and eased myself into it.

Lying back in the hot tub, sweat quickly
started breaking on my body. My face didn’t hurt but I began feeling faint. I
ran the cold tap, cooled the water and lay back again. My palms stung from
gripping the axe shaft. I stretched. My body relaxed, my mind closed down and I
slept.