Underdog (9 page)

‘This is Sarah.’

‘So, you coming out with us, or what?’

Sarah’s eyebrows rose slightly at his forwardness. But she smiled at him.

‘We can’t, can we, Sare?’ Alison looked directly at Tom, who avoided her gaze. ‘We’re in a rush. We’re babysitting this afternoon.’

‘How about we walk you back home?’

The girls looked at each other, then back at the boys, sizing them up as they considered Stevo’s offer.

‘Can’t,’ said Sarah, a hint of disappointment in her voice. ‘We’re taking the bus. We’ve only got a few minutes.’

‘Some other time, then.’ Stevo tried for his most charming grin, but could only manage to leer at her. ‘How about tonight?’

‘Maybe,’ said Sarah. She was blushing, but she batted her eyelashes alluringly, enjoying his come-on. ‘Not tonight though.’

Whilst Stevo continued chatting up her friend, Alison took a step towards Tom. Without saying a word, she brought out a pen and piece of paper from her bag and wrote something down. In his eagerness, Tom reached for it with his bandaged hand.

‘He was thinking of you when that happened,’ said Stevo, winking. Sarah laughed.

‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Tom, his cheeks reddening.

Alison found his shyness appealing. She also wondered what he’d done to his hand; there was always something going on with him. She couldn’t work him out. He was so much more intriguing, and better looking, than his friend.

‘I should’ve given it to you at the bus stop.’

Tom looked down at the paper. It was her phone number. She waited for him to say something, but all he could manage was a bashful smile.

‘I’m free at the weekend … if you want to do something.’

‘I … I’ll call you, then,’ he stuttered finally, his mind more focused on trying to stay upright.

‘Come on, Alison,’ said Sarah, interrupting them. ‘We’re going to be late.’ Alison smiled flirtatiously at Tom. ‘See you then, Tommy.’

The girls turned and walked arm in arm up the high street. Crossing at the lights, they strolled down the other side of the road to the bus stop, where they huddled close together, talking and giggling. After a moment, a bus came and they climbed on.

‘We’re well in there, mate. I think I’m in love. D’you see that Sarah’s eyes?’ Stevo nudged Tom’s arm. ‘Love dark-haired birds.’

He looked ecstatic, but Tom scarcely noticed. His gaze was fixed on the bus as it headed out of sight. Folding the piece of paper, he stuffed it deep into his back pocket.

‘What a couple of stunners,’ hooted Stevo, hardly able to contain himself. He clenched his fists out in front of Tom and shook them, as if he had just scored a winning goal. ‘We’re going to have some fun this summer, mate, you better believe it. You got her number?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got it.’

Tom’s response was trance-like. The hustle and bustle on the street around him vanished from his hearing, the noise of the cars and the shoppers walking around them drifting into nothing. The negative effects of the joint were apparently gone and he started to feel good, excited by what just happened, hardly feeling it when Stevo patted him on the back.

‘Thanks, mate. I owe you one, big time. What a piece of luck: meeting you, meeting her.’

Stevo grabbed Tom’s shoulder and turned him around to face the other end of the high street. They started walking.

By the time they reached the footpath near the dual carriageway exiting the town, Tom was sweating, the sun beating down on his back. It felt as if they had been walking for miles and his legs ached. The dry, earthy surface of the path ran its way ahead of him, snaking along the side of the recently ploughed field, its thick fencing of trees hiding the road from view and muffling the sound of the cars.

‘Not as fit as you look, eh?’ quipped Stevo, noticing how hard Tom was breathing. ‘You want to give up the cigs, mate. Better not let you have another go with the spliff.’

‘Don’t want any more of that.’ Tom took a final swig of his coke and threw the empty cup into the hedgerow. ‘So why don’t you go to school?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘I was suspended. Never bothered going back.’

‘For what?’

‘Usual. Bit of stealing. Smoking puff.’ Stevo grinned. ‘Hit a teacher, didn’t I?’

Tom wondered whether Stevo was lying. He always seemed to be bragging about something.

‘What did your folks say?’

‘Stepdad didn’t mind. Not like he was ever head boy, is it? Mum wasn’t too happy, but she goes along with anything he says. He’s got her like that, see? I only had a year to go anyway. He said I’d be better off helping out. Get earning.’

‘What, with his kennels?’

‘Yeah, I help out at home. It’s not how I make my money, though.’

‘What else do you do?’

‘Deliveries an’ that, for him. Selling his dope. Just the hash and weed; he won’t let me touch the other stuff. Not yet, anyway, eh?’

‘You sell drugs?’

‘Yeah,’ Stevo replied, matter-of-factly. ‘I deal to all the kids on the estates. Round the schools too. All the places he can’t touch. It’s a good market. Keeps me busy enough, puts a few quid in the pocket.’

He moved closer to Tom as they walked on.

‘It’s his main business,’ he said, his voice quieter, his tone more secretive. ‘He’s in it big time, got loads of geezers working for him. They deal the hard stuff. That’s where the real money is.’

Tom tried to take it all in, suddenly feeling differently about the boy strolling along next to him.

‘He’s clever though, see? Got it well sorted. Kennels is his front. Good business, too. You’ve seen the dogs. People come from all over for them. But it’s not where he makes his real money. It’s always been drugs.’

‘What if you get caught?’

‘I won’t. But if I ever did, I’d just keep me mouth shut. Take what’s coming. It’s one of his conditions.’

‘What if someone grasses you up?’

‘That won’t happen, not round here anyway.’ Stevo smiled, amused by such a preposterous idea. ‘He sees to that. No-one fucks with him, so no-one dicks with me. It’s one of the few things that’s useful about the fucker. Everyone knows him, what he’s like. What he can do. No-one messes, Tom. You’ll see what I mean when we get there.’

Tom suddenly felt out of his depth. He wanted to make an excuse, turn back, but it was too late. He followed along as Stevo strode up the path.

‘So what about you, eh? What’s your dad do at the factory?’

The way Stevo asked the question sounded a bit like ‘top that’, and Tom wondered whether he should lie about his dad’s job, say he owned the place.

‘He’s a security guard.’ Tom barely whispered the words, hoping Stevo wouldn’t be interested enough to ask any more.

‘Fucking copper, is he? Fuck me! No wonder you look like you just got off the boat, on rozzer’s pay.’

Tom felt offended, even if Stevo was just ribbing him. It wasn’t his dad’s fault; he was doing the best he could. An odd sense of humiliation, mingled with pride, came over him. He knew his dad could never get into anything like Stevo’s; it wasn’t in him to be anything but honest. He worked hard for his living.

‘He’s not a copper. You and your old man needn’t worry.’

‘What about your mum? Don’t she work? Help Columbo keep you in clothes?’

‘I haven’t got a mum.’

‘What? Left your dad for someone with some cash?’

‘She’s dead,’ answered Tom, calmly. Stevo was shamed into a moment’s silence.

‘Oh … right,’ he said, awkwardly. Now it was his turn to change the subject. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘see that gap in the hedge coming up? We cross the carriageway into the village from there. It’s not far now.’

Tom was relieved to hear the walking was nearly over. The traffic noise grew louder as they drew nearer the gap. The road was busy and they had to wait for a break in the cars. He looked over at the tree-lined village road beyond the carriageway.

‘Want to play chicken?’ The look on Stevo’s face told Tom he was serious.

‘No.’ Whatever they were on their way to see, it wasn’t worth getting killed for.

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, though, Stevo bolted across the road, judging the flow of the traffic with ease. He bounded over the central reservation, laughing as drivers hit their horns, brakes screeching as they sped past.

‘That’s how you do it, mate,’ he shouted back as he reached the other side.

Tom was unimpressed. As he stood waiting for an opening in the traffic, he wondered about his new friend. The more he found out, the less he liked. Mr. Fenton’s earlier advice was starting to make sense. The last thing he needed was more trouble, but he was curious, wanting to find out where Stevo was taking him.

A sudden break in the traffic spurred him into action and he ran across the road. Stevo was smoking the joint saved from earlier.

‘What took you?’ he said, offering it to Tom.

‘No. You keep it.’

‘We’ll be there in a bit. Just the other side of the village. Not long.’

They ambled down the winding village lane, Stevo smoking openly. The place reminded Tom of where he used to live, of better times. It took him back to other summer days spent with his family. When they
were
a family.

The village lane was lined with stone cottages with thatched roofs. The colours and smells of the plants and flowers in the well-kept, fenced front gardens flooded Tom’s senses.

Once through the village and past the last of the cottages, they followed the road as it dropped down between two large areas of farmland. Apart from a farmhouse and some barns in the distance, ahead of them lay nothing but rolling fields edged with trees, and dotted with grazing livestock.

‘This is great,’ said Tom. ‘Imagine living somewhere like this.’

‘Whatever.’ Stevo seemed more intent on making up time. ‘Can you see that gate? That’s us.’

Tom could just make out the battered gate. It was set back in a dense hedgerow, about sixty yards up the road. As they got closer, Stevo picked up his stride, almost setting into a run by the time they reached it. They clambered over the gate onto the dusty track; it was bordered on either side by overhanging trees, so densely packed the intertwined leaves and branches formed a netted canopy, like a tunnel, around them.

Stevo looked around cautiously.

‘When we get to the top of the track, let me go up first. Make sure no-one’s about. Okay? If you hear a car, jump into the bushes and get yourself down.’ He looked serious.

‘Sure.’

They walked slowly up the track. Shifting spots of sunlight and shadow dappled the ground, the cracked tyre-tracks a sign of regular traffic. Eventually they neared the track’s end.

‘Stay here a sec’,’ said Stevo. ‘I’ll just go and check it out.’

He disappeared into the trees up ahead. It took just a moment before he was back, motioning for Tom to join him.

‘It’s alright. Quick. Move it,’ he said, frantically waving Tom on.

The track opened into an overgrown field, with a cul-de-sac of trees that enclosed the farm buildings. At first glance, Tom couldn’t see what was so special about the place: just ragged land and derelict barns, rusting machinery behind them. Then he heard the dogs. Their muffled barking was coming from inside one of the rundown buildings.

‘Your dad’s got dogs up here, too?’

‘Yeah. Proper dogs.’ Stevo’s eyes lit up as he pointed. ‘Pit-dogs. Keeps them in that last barn.’

As they drew nearer, the barking became more intense; it wasn’t the kind of noise Tom had heard dogs make before. It was wild, a sustained warning to keep away.

‘He’s had some matches up here, man,’ boasted Stevo. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. This is where he trains them, too. Vicious bastards, the lot. Scare me shitless. He’s got a big match coming up Friday night. Important.’

The thought of it made Tom sick. ‘They don’t let them get hurt, do they?’

‘Hurt!’ exclaimed Stevo. ‘They fight them to the death, mate. I told you, Tom: this is proper stuff. It’s what makes my stepdad’s matches so special. Trains them hard for it. He’s bred champions. Makes money out of the betting and stud fees. People pay a fortune for top dogs to cover their bitches.’

Tom hoped he was exaggerating. It had to be more bravado; what kind of person would stand by and watch whilst a dog was killed? Least of all train them for it. The whole idea was vile.

‘You’re talking bullshit,’ he said in disgust.

‘On my life. I’ve seen it. There’s nothing like it. Dogs go mad. It’s what they’re meant to do, what they’re for. Come and have a look at this.’

Stevo led Tom to the boarded-up windows at the front of the first barn, pushing him forward to look through the cracks.

‘Pit’s in there.’

‘Can’t see anything,’ said Tom, drawing his face closer to the rotten boards. All he could make out was a dark, empty space.

‘Come round here. There’s another window. We might be able to get in.’

Tom followed, reluctantly. The window at the rear of the building was boarded too, but one of the planks was loose. As Stevo pushed it to one side, the strip of wood dislodged completely, leaving a gap just wide enough for them to squeeze through.

‘Shit,’ said Stevo, as Tom climbed through after him. ‘Hope he won’t notice that board. We’ll have to try and put it back up when we get out. Can’t have him knowing anyone was here.’

As Tom looked around the dank space, a foul stink hit his nostrils. The air was thick with it: disinfectant, and something else, putrid. He breathed through his mouth as they moved deeper into the building, the darkness around him making the cruelty Stevo had described suddenly seem very real. The floor was littered with cigarette butts, and a pile of crushed beer cans filled one corner. Stevo led Tom towards the other end of the barn, where a square pit had been cut into the concrete floor. It was filled with straw bales.

‘They put the dogs in here, see? Let them at it.’

It was hard for Tom to imagine. The pit in front of him didn’t look like it could be used for anything.

‘Give us a hand, then,’ said Stevo, grabbing a bale and pulling it out of the pit. Tom moved forward and lifted another, exposing a patch of its concrete floor.