The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9 Part 53

Toad flinched, but not far enough.

My forehead cracked him on the bridge of his nose.

He went back, hands cupping the blood spewing into his palms. I hoofed him in the b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.

I said the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was hard. He didn't go down, but that was only a minor setback. I grabbed him by his skull and battered my knee into his chest, then used his head like a bowling ball, fingers inserted in his nostrils to swing him down and round and across the floor.

Don't know if that was him out of the fight or not, 'cause I immediately went up the stairs and into the room they called the G.o.ds. I'd filled my hand on the way up, the Browning feeling like a clumsy and unfamiliar weight. Shouldn't have, I used to carry one all the time, but it had been a few years. It was a single action pistol, with thirteen 9mm rounds in the magazine, and I had the hammer c.o.c.ked back, the safety catch on, ready to go.

There were five of them up there. Four punks and the biggest a.r.s.ehole of them all. The one in the middle was Raymond Gardner. Or Gardy to friends and foes alike. I showed him the barrel of the Browning so he could see the black hole that was gonna suck him into oblivion.

"Heard you were expecting me, Gardy?"

He had to take a spliff out of his mouth to speak.

"Alec Duncan, me ol' pal," he grinned. "How long's it been? f.u.c.k me, must be three years."

The Browning never wavered from his skull. Give him his due, he didn't look bothered. As if having a gun pointed at him was a daily occurrence. Maybe it was these days.

His pals didn't look as confident, they were antsy, trying to move away without making it obvious. I read Gardy's face; wasn't difficult, being the proverbial open book.

"Pity me an' you can't be friends again. You see the w.a.n.kers I have round me nowadays? Not like it was back in the Regiment."

The Regiment was a whole lifetime away for both of us now. His if I didn't get my way.

"Things were different back then," I told him.

"Dunno about that. I've still got the same enemies. Micks and ragheads."

And at least two Scots, I wanted to add. Me and Billy Reid.

"I'm here about my cousin Billy."

Gardy came round a pool table, putting his head even closer to the barrel of my gun. He sat on the edge of the table, folded his arms like he was f.u.c.kin' Simon Cowell offering scathing criticism. He put on a pa.s.sable Glaswegian accent. "It's the difference between Bing Crosby and Walt Disney. Bing sings but Walt disnae."

"The f.u.c.k you on about?" Not that I hadn't heard that old joke about a million times.

"I'm speaking in metaphors," Gardy said.

"You're talking s.h.i.+te," I corrected.

He smiled, thumbed the spliff back between his teeth. I wanted to remind him that the no smoking ban also applied to toking on a joint, but that would have just made me look like an idiot. Holding an illegal handgun on someone wasn't viewed favourably by the law either. I let it go.

Gardy was a wiry f.u.c.ker, always was. In the last three years since I last saw him he'd put on the beef, but it was all round his neck and shoulders. He still looked like an ex-squaddie. Right down to the short hair, the rubber-soled boots. He was still dangerous. The difference was I was clean, but he was wired. The gange wasn't the only thing he'd taken judging by the twitching round his eyes. I glanced, saw white residue from a couple lines on the pool table rim. c.o.ked up. Speed maybe. I'm not that up on the different substances people snort up their noses these days. Didn't care for them or the people that peddled them. I had to hang with Billy only because he was blood.

"Billy says he owes you money," I said.

"Like I said, Bing sings-"

I got it this time. Billy had reneged on paying his supplier.

"You can't get blood from a stone," I reminded him.

"It's all about the ways and means, Alec, me ol' pal."

"You wanted him to steal money from our grandmother, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"She's eighty-two, ain't she? What does she need with a heap of cash?"

I flicked off the safety. Almost shot the p.r.i.c.k there and then.

His friends had made themselves scarce, backing off into the corners, still trying to look like hard-cases, but failing. I wondered if any of them were carrying; if they were they weren't making a move yet. I kept the gun on Gardy. Like stink on s.h.i.+t as they say.

Gardy studied the end of his spliff. Looked like it had gone out. Told me he was blowing instead of sucking. Bad sign; meant he wasn't afraid of me or the gun. That's what comes of c.o.ke, makes you feel indestructible, I heard.

"Billy owes you no nothin'. That's it, Gardy. Leave it at that an' we stay good ol' pals."

Gardy shook his head.

"Can't be done, me ol' china." The f.u.c.k had he switched to a c.o.c.kney accent for? That was Gardy, though. He used to be good fun, would have us all grinning at his Sean Connery or Billy Connolly, his Tommy Cooper or Prince Charles. I used to laugh with him, now I was laughing at him. I saw now that he used the accents and mimicry cause he just wasn't happy with the skin he was in. Was why he'd reinvented himself from a Special Forces soldier to a drug-peddling smackhead, I supposed. Pathetic b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Then there was me. I was also once an SAS bad-a.r.s.e. Now look at me. Running around like a common criminal, defending someone who I should've smacked round the head a few times for even thinking of burgling my granny's bungalow. Give Billy his due, he'd come to me before he did it. Made me wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been in town, though. I was there protecting one deadbeat from another.

Gardy jutted out his chin, lips tight on his teeth as he looked me up and down.

"You're lookin' fit, Alec. What are ya doin' these days?"

"Hod carrying," I said. "Building site over Yorks.h.i.+re way."

"f.u.c.kin' labouring?"

"Carrying bricks beats carrying s.h.i.+t."

"Depends on your perspective. See, the s.h.i.+t pays better. Come to work for me, Alec. I'll let Billy's debt go."

"Kiss my a.r.s.e."

"Not my style. I've kicked plenty in my time." He laughed. "Kicked yours once, as I recall."

He had too. Gave me a right leathering. But that was then.

I lowered the Browning.

"Got a deal for you," I said.

"Shoot," he said.

Maybe I should have, but I'd a point to prove.

"Ooh, bad choice of word, eh?" he grinned. "What I meant was-"

"I know what you meant. Me an' you, we get it on. I win, Billy's debt is clear."

"What do I get outa the deal?"

I lifted the gun. "You get to stay on living."

Gardy stuck the spliff back between his lips like it was a cheroot. Said, in his best Clint Eastwood, "You gonna use that gun or whistle Dixie?" He laughed. "Where? When?"

"Right here right now, if you want?"

He shook his head. "Where's the money in that? I'm a f.u.c.kin' businessman these days, Alec. Don't fight for nothin', you know."

He glanced round his four pals. "Which one of you p.r.i.c.ks thinks Alec can take me?"

They all grumbled out uneasy laughter. Like, what the f.u.c.k were they gonna say?

"Put a ton on me, lads," he said. "I win, I take the pot. Four hundred should do it. It'll cover Billy's debt." He squinted up at me. "You want to put up a wedge, Alec?"

"I carry bricks, not cash."

Somehow I got the impression that Gardy's pals weren't too happy about putting up the stake, not when it looked like a sure winner for their leader. But it was an out for them, a way of getting back into his good graces. They counted bills on to the corner of a pool table.

Gardy picked up the stack of twenties and tens. Riffled them under his nose. "I love the smell of cash in the morning." He mangled the Apocalypse Now quote, but his pals laughed with him. I shook my head. Wondered where we were doing it, so I asked him.

"Where we doing it?"

"Out the back," he said. "We'll pick up the others on the way down, get a real purse going."

I led the way down. Trusting Gardy was like I said earlier, like putting your head in a lion's mouth, but I got the impression the money and the accolades meant more to him than if he cold-c.o.c.ked me from behind like a b.i.t.c.h. Toad and the perfumed s.k.a.n.k were nowhere to be seen and maybe that was a good thing. Blood spatters on the floor showed which way they'd gone. Into the p.i.s.ser to clean up. f.u.c.k 'em; I didn't need any more enemies clamouring round me 'cause Gardy was dangerous enough for any man to contend with.

We went out through the back of the pool hall and down a flight of metal steps. The young gangstas followed us out, brave now that their vaunted leader was among them. They were all talking excitedly, dissing me behind my back. Telling Gardy to f.u.c.k me over real good, like they'd been raised in South Central LA instead of here in northern England.

There was a cobbled yard, dustbins, a sh.e.l.l of a car. Recognized it as an old Ford Escort like one my dad had back in the early eighties. Could've been the same one for all I knew 'cause someone boosted it from outside our house and we never saw it again. Couldn't fathom how the car got here because the yard was fully enclosed by a high wall; maybe the car was here before the wall and they just built around it like it was a museum piece in need of protection. Right.

Gardy took off his s.h.i.+rt. Threw a couple of lightning-fast punches, danced like Ali for the crowd. They were all cheering him, money pa.s.sing back and forward.

I put the Browning down on one of the bins. Took off my sweats.h.i.+rt and piled it on top. Stood there in my vest like Bruce Willis. Some of the crowd shut the f.u.c.k up, 'cause I was a wiry b.a.s.t.a.r.d mesel. I shook the kinks out of my hands as I walked forward.

Gardy bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet.

I said, "Remember, I win, that's it."

"My hand on it," he said, like I was going to fall for that old trick.

"Your word will do."

"OK, we've a deal." He turned to the crowd. "No one steps in. No one does nothin', got it?" He got sounds of a.s.sent from them. "If Alec beats me, then that's everythin' over with. No one touches Billy Reid."

I nodded at him. For old time's sake.

"Rules?" he asked.

"You've seen Butch Ca.s.sidy and the Sundance Kid?"

He nodded. "I have."

"Good," I said and front-kicked him under the chin. As he picked himself up off his a.r.s.e, hand ma.s.saging his jaw, I said, "You should've seen that one coming, Gardy."

He smiled at me, blood trickling from between his lips like he was a vampire fresh from a virgin's throat.

"Sneaky b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he laughed. "That's the way I got you the last time."

"We're square now," I told him. "We start from scratch."

"OK." He came at me quick.

He punched me in my chest, then hooked at my head with a left. His knuckles sc.r.a.ped my skull but I was ducking. I sunk a dig into his guts. It was like punching a drum. I folded my arm, slammed him with my elbow, and that had more effect. He arched his back, got a hold on my face with both hands. Dug his thumbs into my eyes.

Could have tried to fight his hands off me, but while I was doing that he'd have demolished me. I rammed forward, hit my forehead against his. Kneed him in the b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. I've heard about guys on steroids; abuse makes their t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es shrivel. Maybe that was the case with Gardy 'cause he didn't flinch, just came back at me with a knee of his own. Got me in the solar plexus and nearly knocked the wind clean out of me. But at least his thumbs were out of my eyes.

We rattled round the yard, grunting and swearing, trading punches and kicks, none of them landing too cleanly. The crowd moved with us, baying for blood. All of it mine, of course. One of them spat on me; would've broken his nose given the chance but Gardy wasn't giving me a second. I grappled him and we both rolled across the floor, digging and clawing. We spilled apart. Someone accidentally on purpose stepped on my hand. I swung a kick at him from the floor, caught him on his s.h.i.+ns and the p.r.i.c.k jumped back. Then it was back to Gardy. We had a hold on each other, his fists twisted in my vest, mine in his mouth and on his belt. We used that prop to struggle back to our feet.

Gardy tried to bite my fingers and I jerked my hand free. We backed away a step. But that was all. Then we were back into it.

I looped a right over the top of him, hit him in the back of the neck. Tried for his mastoid with the edge of my hand, missed but nearly tore his ear off. He backed away, touching his lug-hole like it was a prized possession. "f.u.c.k me," he said.

I intended to.

I threw a punch at his windpipe.

Gardy stepped quickly to the side and caught my arm. Hand on wrist, hand on elbow. He rolled my arm, locked me tight, then pushed down on the joint. I felt a tendon rupture. f.u.c.k me but it hurt. Gardy kept pressing, trying to give my arm a two-way hinge. I kicked my heel into his s.h.i.+ns, and threw myself away. Nearly tore my arm out of its socket, but at least it wasn't broken.

Gardy didn't stop to think how I'd got away, just monopolized, coming after me while I was still off balance. He kicked me in the a.r.s.e with the toe of his boot. Dunno if you've ever been kicked there for real, but it's not the playful admonishment that most people think of. A blast of pain went right up my spine to the crown of my head. Then it went all the way back down again.

Could hardly stand.

Couple of Gardy's pals were in my way and I grabbed at them to steady mesel. They shrugged me off, swung me round and Gardy planted his fist in my left eye socket.

Jesus! White light, a taste of metal in my mouth, pain like a son of a b.i.t.c.h.

They didn't know it, but Gardy's pals had helped me. Put me back on my feet and ready to give back everything I got. I jabbed Gardy in the mouth. Stuck a one in his gut, another in his ribs. He winced with every shot and I followed him. Palm under his chin, heel hooked round his knee in a judo trip.

Gardy wouldn't be caught so easily; he hooked me under an armpit, swung round, got his hips under me and threw me with a judo hip-toss of his own.

Flat on my back there was no escape from the heel he stamped on my chest.

It was like having the stuffing forced out of every orifice in my body. I must have yelled in agony, 'cause Gardy looked like he was pleased with himself and tried again. This time I was ready for him and I swept his leg over me with both arms. He straddled me, looking down at me with the red-rimmed eyes of a mad bull. I punched him in the b.a.l.l.s.