Beast of Burden (27 page)

Innes did this noise, like a dog laughing. He jingled the keys and glanced at us. “So when's this … going to happen?”

“Soon.”

“Right y'are, Donkey.”

“That's not helping your case, son.”

“Arrest me, then.”

He looked at us. And I couldn't stand the twinkle in the bastard's eyes.

He knew.

“Course you fuckin' know,” I said, nodding.

Then I stopped walking. Innes carried on driving at the same speed. There was no point in following him. I couldn't arrest him. Didn't have the authority. And he bastard-well knew it. I might as well have been a community support officer.

Halfway up the street, Innes slowed down and I saw his arm come out the side of the car. Heard the jingle fade as he pitched them as far he could. Saw something bounce into the grass, but I wasn't going to run for them. Didn't have the energy. Instead, I watched him drive off round the corner.

The Micra disappeared, and I breathed out. Tried to remain calm.

I started walking again, headed for the wasteland.

If Innes knew I was suspended, then it was probably all over the fucking city by now. I couldn't make out like I had any power, couldn't play that game, because I had to take it on faith that this particular nugget of information had already caught and travelled through my network. Grasses wouldn't talk to us, and neither would the average street scally. In fact — and Christ, here was a new thought that made my arse chew on my skids — I'd have to watch my back, because if it got out that it was open season on us, then other people might get the same bastard idea, think they could take a free shot. And these lads — especially the ones who might reckon they owe us some pain — weren't too clever. They'd just ape, maybe go further. What they wouldn't realise was that Innes and Tiernan's lads already got us up to the limit of shit I was willing to take. And they wouldn't cotton on to the fact that even if their memory was long, mine was
way
fucking longer, and this suspension wouldn't last. Soon as I got officially badged again, they'd be in the shit.

So I wasn't all that scared. As long as I watched myself, kept out of my usual haunts, I reckoned I'd be okay.

I found my keys next to a big pile of dogshit. A stroke of luck that Innes hadn't thrown a couple inches to the left, else I'd have been picking my keys out of that mound with a twig. When I straightened up, I looked back at my car. The bonnet was fucked. You could see it even at this distance, which made us think it was only going to get worse the closer I got.

But I did go back, and when I was back, I switched on Annie Lennox and I listened to the whole of “Legend In My Living Room” before I started the engine.

She calmed us down, did Annie. And I needed to maintain. Even if it felt like I was about to lose my fucking mind.

INNES

“Sad, really,” says Frank. “The way things turn out.”

He's talking to Paulo in the back office as I come in. On my desk is a large white cake with a couple of pieces missing. Frank has cream in the corner of his mouth and Paulo's trying to look interested, but it's obvious that Frank's been nattering non-stop for quite some time.

I frown at the cake.

“Mrs Sadler,” says Paulo.

“A thank you.” Frank goes back for another piece. “Payment, if you want.”

“She didn't have cash?”

Frank shoots me a look. “No. And I wouldn't have taken it even if she did. You want some?”

I shake my head. “Had a big lunch.”

“Turns out I didn't need your help anyway,” he says.

Paulo heads for the door. I watch him. He looks at Frank, then raises one eyebrow. “You should hear this.”

Frank smiles through a mouthful of cake at Paulo as he leaves. He gestures at the closing door with a fork, says: “I've been boring Paulo with the details.”

I put a juice down on the desk. Wave at it. “Peace offering.”

“What for?”

“Should've … helped you out. Sorry.”

He picks up the juice, nods at me. “It's alright, Cal. You've got your own stuff to do, right?”

“Right.”

“And I don't think you'd be up to a long stakeout.”

I shake my head, knowing full well I'm being fucking patronised, but I feel it's only right that I suffer it, at least for a while. Frank's obviously proud of himself, and even though the Lads' Club is the last place I should be right now — it's only a matter of time before Donkey gets his arse in gear and gets back round here to kick shit out of me — I can't piss on the man's chips.

“So,” I say, “you going to … fill me in?”

Frank swallows some juice, replaces the cap on the bottle. “Well, you know I had surveillance set up at her house, right?”

Surveillance
. Frank can't even spell the word, let alone do it. But I'll play along. I nod.

“Cameras,” I say. “I brought one.”

“Yeah, you did. Well, I didn't move, kept a watch on her place on account of she said that it was a regular occurrence, these lads coming round and terrorising her. And I told her that there was nothing I could do if they came round. To stop it, y'know?”

I nod. “You can't get …
involved
.”

“Yeah, that's what I said. And she was okay with it.” He leans against the desk. “I mean the point of the job was to find out who was causing her all this bother.”

“And you saw them?”

He doesn't hear me. Or if he does, he doesn't care. “It was her car, you see,
mostly
. Sometimes the front window got put in, but she said that only happened a couple of times, both times Saturday nights, so I reckoned they were drunk and got some confidence from that. Anyway, most of the time they took their frustrations out on her car.”

“Off-street?”

“No,” he says, smiling. “See, that's another reason why they took to the car. Mrs Sadler always parked on the street, right under a streetlight.”

I nod. Frank shovels a forkful of cake into his mouth, pulls a yummy face and I have to wait for him to finish chewing before he continues.

“My thinking was, they
knew
her,” he says.

“Why?”

“They did the car. They knew it was hers, because when they got the courage, they put out her window, so Mrs Sadler was right about one thing — it was personal. And they needed the courage to get onto the property, because we both know that Mrs Sadler's the kind of lady who'd put up. At the very least, she'd recognise whoever it was if she saw them.” He takes another bite, talks through the cake. “They had a point they wanted to make.”

“There was a point?” I glance out at the club floor. Jason Kelly comes out of the changing rooms, all ready for his workout. Paulo slaps the lad on the shoulder, points to the heavy bag, then heads for the cupboard. He brings out a pair of focus pads and watches as Kelly goes to work on the heavy bag. When I look back at Frank, he's polished off the cake, set the plate to one side.

“See, Mrs Sadler's a teacher, isn't she?” he says.

“I didn't know that.”

“She mentioned it, Cal.”

I glance back out the window and Jason Kelly's going hard into the bag. “I've been … it's been a long week.”

“So she thought it was someone in her class. Someone who happened to know where she lived.”

“Right. And you saw 'em.”

He nods, grinning. “Got 'em on camera. Two of them, both pupils in her class, they're both thirteen.”

“That's young for here.”

“They're not
from
here. Not ex-offenders. Paulo's never seen them before.”

“But you passed it on?”

“Better than that.” He smacks his lips, runs his tongue into one of his back teeth. “Soon as Mrs Sadler put an ID on the pair of them, we went round to see the parents.”

“You didn't inform … the police?” I frown at him.

“Didn't need to.”

“Didn't Mrs Sadler—”

“No, she didn't want the police involved. She wanted it sorted amicably.”

I stare at Frank. He keeps using that big old vocabulary of his, he's going to lose the Daft Frank nickname quick enough. “So what happened?”

“Showed the parents the photos I took, let them identify their own boys. And then we talked.”

“About what?”

“About how much it would cost to repair the damage. We split the cost down the middle. I mean, we didn't want to make this official, get these lads in serious trouble. You know how that ends up, you can't shake it off.”

I nod. I want a cigarette, look out at the club again. “Well done, Frank.”

“Sad, though.”

“Come again?”

“That she did what she did,” he says, nodding at the gym. “I asked her about it. She said she was positive she'd seen one of the boys come here. When she found out it was an ex-young offenders place, that was all she needed.”

“They weren't offenders.”

“Didn't matter to her. She wanted revenge, she lashed out. Didn't matter that it was wrong. Somebody had to get hurt.”

“She was angry, Frank.”

“Yeah, but
anyone
would do? Any young lad?”

I look at him. “People get emotional.”

“But, y'know, it was the wrong person,” he says. “I mean, where d'you get the revenge in that?”

I shake a cigarette out of the pack, move towards the door. “Doesn't always matter.”

“You going out for a smoke?” he says.

“Yeah. Listen, well done, mate.” I nod at him. “You did well. Reckon you could
run
… this place.”

“It's a partnership,” he says.

I make an agreeing noise so I don't have to lie. Then I leave the office and limp across the gym. Haven't needed a cigarette like this in ages.

I shouldn't be here. Smoked two already, leaning against the wall of the Lads Club, staring at the street. There's a part of me that's willing Donkey to come roaring around the corner. At least that would put an end to it, and it'd be no more than I deserve. But after the second cigarette, I know he's not coming. Probably off somewhere licking his wounds, wondering how the fuck a mong like me managed to put one over on him.

Let him wonder.

I light another cigarette, promise myself the third's my last for the moment. After this I should head back home, see if he's turned up there. Or else I could get the ball rolling. I glance back at the Lads Club, see Paulo heading for the double doors, and shift my arse so he doesn't hit me when he comes out.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I wasn't the only one.” He lowers his voice. “Sorry about before.”

“No problem.”

“What did he want?”

“To mess. Same as usual. He's like that. It's okay.”

“You sure?”

I nod, blow smoke. There's a chill in the air that Paulo appears to have brought with him out of the club. He has his arms folded. Partly because it's a natural position for him, partly because he's trying to warm himself up.

“You're worried,” I say.

He doesn't answer for a few seconds. Then he says, “You blame us, Cal?”

“I told you already.”

“I know.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“You say that, but then what do I see?”

My turn: “I know.”

“Police come round looking for you. Not once, but twice in as many days.”

“They found Mo.”

“I know they did.”

“So Donkey wants to …
question
me. Wants to take me in. Except he can't.”

Paulo looks at me. “Because he's suspended.”

“Sacked, more like.” I pluck the cigarette from my mouth. “It'll be fine. You worry … you make
me
worried.”

“Okay.”

Best I change the subject. “How's Jason?”

“He's great. Now. Back on form.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Paulo looks at the pavement, breathes out. He might as well be smoking, the way his breath comes out in a long plume. He scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth, then straightens up.

“Listen, whatever you're doing—”

“You know … what I'm doing.”

“Make sure it's on the level. Make sure you're not going to take all this onto yourself.”

“I can't—”

“I don't want that on my conscience, Cal. Don't need any more shit weighing us down like that.”

I shake my head. “Blame's got to fall …
somewhere
.”

“Not on you,” he says.

“No. I've got it covered.”

“Do I want to know?”

Shake my head once and ditch the cigarette. I've lost my taste for it. “Probably not.”

He stares at me for a long time. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Not sure,” I say, half-smiling. “But if Donkey … comes back. You know what to do. Right? Don't take a chance. Call the police. Let them handle him.”

“Okay.”

I pull my jacket as I walk round the side of the building. I parked the Micra round there so Paulo wouldn't see it and start asking stupid questions. These days it's hard enough to talk, never mind come up with reasonable explanations as to why the back of my motor's suddenly bashed in. And he would ask about it. The way he's been acting recently, I wouldn't have been surprised if he asked me for a cigarette himself. Constantly on edge, drinking way too much coffee in some misguided attempt to keep him away from the booze. Only need to spend five minutes in his company to know his mental health's all over the shop, but he can't admit it, especially not to me.

It shouldn't be long now, though. Then it'll be all over one way or another.

They destroyed us, the Tiernans. Mo Tiernan turned my brother into a smackhead, then a thief. I was along for the ride, so they turned me into a scapegoat and a jailbird, a walking fucking menagerie.

Nobody's business what happened to me in prison. Not something I want to dwell on now, either. And besides, when I came out, I had more important things to worry about. I entered the legit world after two-and-change to find that the Tiernans had strung Declan out. But they kept him in the bosom, just in case he got any ideas that he was better than his friends.

Judge a man by his mates, and watch him burn.

And because they strung him out, they were the ones to blame for his eventual suicide. Mo Tiernan killed my brother; Morris Tiernan helped.

They put me in that place. Made me impotent. Destroyed what little life I had, put a stain on me I couldn't scrub off.