Beyond the Rage (25 page)

Kenny took in his father’s words. Something was going on. Something in the wider scheme of things. Words and ideas formed in his mind and vanished before he could grasp them. Images came into focus and as he reached for them they broke up like the reflection on a pool when grabbed for by a child’s hand.

He bit his lip. If only he could figure this all out. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a motorway thick with fog. A step in any direction meant danger. Or it could take him to safety.

‘What did happen to your arm?’ Peter asked.

Kenny explained.

Peter nodded as he listened.

‘Tell me about this woman, Alexis.’

Peter studied Kenny’s face as he spoke.

‘You in love with her?’ Peter asked.

Kenny nodded.

Peter leaned forward on to the table his head in his hands. He groaned. ‘Fuck.’ He stood up, looked around him wildly.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Kenny.

‘Oh my God. I’ve got to go.’ Peter hurried to the door. Kenny followed and caught him out on the street.

‘Kenny, what have you done? You fucking idiot.’ Peter was striding back and forward much like Kenny was minutes before. ‘This is how they work. Fuck! I’ve got to get home. Make sure everyone is okay.’ His eyes were wild with panic.

‘Will you calm the fuck down and tell me what the hell is going on?’

‘Everything. Us two here. The broken arm. The prostitute. It’s all part of the plan, Kenny, and they’ve got us exactly where they want us.’

48

Mason Budge stood in the shadows and watched the two men walk to the corner. Nice, he thought. Everything was falling into place, just as the boss suggested it would. He was a very clever man, devious as all hell, but that made it such a pleasure to work with him.

He thought of the old woman in the hospital. She
’d
had her uses. The stroke and the heart attack thing was just a bonus, but she
’d
unwittingly played her part in the whole opera beautifully. Because that was what it was: an opera minus the music and the fat bastards in black.

Movement caught his eye and it was the whore running out of O’Neill’s door.

‘Hey,’ he shouted, ‘where the hell are you going?’

Alexis’ head swung round. She spotted him and her face lengthened in alarm. Then she spun and ran in the opposite direction.

‘Don’t make me fucking run, woman,’ he shouted. ‘It will be worse for you when I eventually catch up with you.’ Her answer to this threat was a panicked clatter of heels on pavement as she increased her speed.

Budge caught her without too much trouble. This meant he wasn’t
too
annoyed with her.

‘Where do you think you’re going, young lady?’ he asked, holding on to her arm.

‘Let me go, Budge.’ Her voice was shrill. ‘I can’t take any more of this.’

‘Need I remind you of the deal you struck with the boss?’

‘I don’t care.’ She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Stop,’ Budge shouted in her face. Cowed by this display of aggression, she stopped moving and hung her head.

‘You love him, don’t you?’ Budge asked.

‘Don’t be stupid.’ She flicked her hair back from her face and stared defiance into his.

‘Whatever,’ said Budge. ‘Doesn’t really matter. Despite your pathetic efforts, the final pieces are now on the board.’

‘Ho!’ a deep voice shouted from further up the street. ‘Let her go, ya wanker.’ The drum of feet and a large, broad-shouldered youth was in his face. ‘Ah said let her go, fuckface.’

‘Mark,’ said Alexis, ‘just go. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’

Mark grabbed her other arm. ‘No. You’re coming with me. The boss trusted me to look after you. And thanks, by the way, for running away. Makes me look like a total tosser.’

‘Mark, please,’ Alexis said, stepping closer to Budge. ‘Just go.’

‘Naw, I’m no going without you. So Mr...’ – he looked Budge up and down, looking for a suitable epithet – ‘...Mr Bawjaws can go and fuck himself.’

‘Go on,’ Budge said and smiled. ‘Make it interesting.’

Mark was bouncing on his toes, looking from Alexis to Budge. Ready to attack.

‘Mason, I’ll do whatever you want. Just let Mark go,’ Alexis shouted, her face a picture of panic.

Budge could read the expression on the boy’s face. He was wondering why the woman was acting so scared; looking at him and thinking there was nothing to be scared of. The boy’s posture read of nothing but confidence. He was sure he could take Budge.

Budge was happy to disabuse him of that notion.

The boy lunged. Budge slipped to the side and avoided him easily. As the body mass passed him, Budge brought up a knee and caught the boy in the gut. A fist to the cheek and the boy was on the ground. Breathing heavy. His face bright with surprise. And fury.

The boy jumped to his feet. ‘I made that easy for you, ya cunt. Now I’m about to make it much, much harder.’

Budge was light on his feet, ready to move in either direction. He was enjoying himself. This was like a warm-up to the main event. Except the boy surprised him. He feinted to the left but before Budge could read what was happening, the boy was inside his defences and planted a hook on his chin. Budge had moved with the punch and this diffused much of the intent but it did hurt. He rubbed at his jaw.

‘Not so cocky now, ya bastard,’ said Mark.

Nobody hits Mason Budge. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever made contact with him. The fun had gone. It was time to put a stop to this.

Alexis read his expression and she was shouting in his ear, ‘No, Budge, no. He’s only a kid.’

With a flick of his arm, the knife released from its hiding place and was in his grip. He stepped up to the boy quicker than he could blink and punched the steel spike through his belly. He withdrew the blade in a tearing motion to the side. Minimum effort, maximum damage. The boy went down in stages, hands over his wound, face folded in surprise. Alexis was leaning over his body screaming for help. Budge leaned over and wiped the blade on the boy’s jeans.

‘Knife crime in this city is shocking,’ Budge said. ‘They really oughta do something about it.’ He smiled large and said to no one in particular:

‘Now for the main event.’

49

‘Where the fuck did I park my car?’ Peter stood in the middle of the street, craning his neck the length of it.

‘You’re not going anywhere until you tell me everything,’ said Kenny, stepping in front of him.

Peter pushed him out of the way. ‘If they see us together...’ He walked away. Stopped as if walking into a wall. ‘What am I saying? They’ll have people on us right now.’

Kenny was at his side. ‘What people? Where are they? Tell me and I’ll deal with them.’

‘Got to go. Got to get home. Why did I agree to come here? Must have been off my fucking head.’

‘None taken,’ said Kenny. ‘Look...’ He grabbed Peter’s arm. ‘I understand you think your kids are in danger. But we need to deal with this rationally. Running off half-cocked is just going to get everyone killed.’

‘You have no idea.’ Peter was breathing hot in his face. ‘No fucking idea. These people are ruthless.’

‘Give me an idea,’ Kenny argued. ‘Let me know what I’m dealing with.’

Peter gave Kenny a hard push in his chest. He fell back, stumbled and managed to right himself. His father was half-walking, half-running along the street. Kenny caught him easily. Peter swung round to push him away again. Kenny dodged the hands, stepped in close, positioned a foot, twisted a hip and his father was on the ground on his back.

‘What the...?’ Peter struggled to get back to his feet. Kenny stopped him with a foot on his chest. A passing couple changed their course and gave them a wide berth. The woman mumbled something about not being safe on the streets.

‘You tell me what exactly what we’re dealing with or so fucking help me, every time you try to stand up I’m going to knock you back down.’

Peter stopped struggling and managed to raise himself up on to his elbows. ‘Don’t be stupid, how am I going to tell you everything from here?’

‘Make a start and if you’re doing good I’ll let you up on to your knees.’

Kenny’s mobile began to ring furiously in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the caller. ‘Alexis,’ he said out loud. ‘Well, she can just bloody wait.’ He terminated the call. ‘Start talking, old man.’

‘The family owned a hotel near Queens Park. It was a modest wee place but it was like the head office of their kingdom. They dealt in illegal immigrants, drugs, prostitutes, re-selling stolen goods. You name it. It was sticking to their fingers.’ He stopped. ‘This really isn’t comfy. Can I get up now?’

‘You can go as far as your knees.’

Peter moved on to his knees and sat back on his heels. ‘I really didn’t give you enough of a spanking when you were wee, did I?’ His face showed an uneven mix of pride at how his son was handling himself and frustration that he was no longer the one in the position of power.

‘We made a lot of money. I made a lot of money. Your mum hated me working for them. That was about the only thing we argued about. Well,’ – he looked at Kenny – ‘apart from the time she found out I was having an affair with Vi.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know how that woman put up with me. She was a saint.’

‘Yeah,’ said Kenny. ‘And it fucking killed her.’

‘You’re not for cutting me any slack, are you?’

‘Get on with the story.’

‘They were a devious bunch. Gifted at making money from any illegal source. Gifted at making people regret they
’d
ever met them. Their son was about my age. Maybe a wee bit older. He was always looking to test my loyalty and he thought a gun would be the ultimate test.’ Peter was committed to the story, locked into the past. He was now sitting on the ground with his legs crossed. Kenny joined him. Several groups of tourists walked past and stared at them as if waiting for them to produce a mouth organ or a banjo. They all walked away disappointed. Kenny heard one American accent: ‘Kinda disappointed with the street theatre, man.’

‘I refused to use it,’ continued Peter. ‘Gimme a knuckleduster, a club, I’ll break a few skulls. Guns are just heartless. Hate the fucking things.’ He exhaled. ‘The son wasn’t pleased. He was worse than his old man. He swore if I wasn’t with him, I was against him. He saw me out one night with Vi. He made a pass at her. She slapped him in front of a lot of people. Man, was he crushed.’

‘Good for Vi,’ Kenny said.

Peter laughed. ‘Yup, our Vi was a feisty one in her youth.’ His eyes took on a dream-like sheen. ‘I used to wish I could take your mum and Vi away to, like, a kibbutz by the side of the Red Sea and we
’d
live as a threesome. Sharing everything.’

‘Enough with the wet dreams, Pete. You’ll give yourself a heart attack. Get on with the story.’

‘So the son’s mad. Fucking furious. He wants Vi taken down a peg or two. I tell him, he touches her again and I’ll take his gun and shove it up his arse.’ Exhale. ‘Ah, the folly of youth. I was so pleased with myself in those days. I could take on the world. Despite the fact I was sleeping with both sisters, the girls were still in and out of each other’s houses. One day a parcel arrives at ours. Vi was there watching you while me and your mum were at the pictures. Robin Hood, or some such shite. Anyway, Vi opens the parcel. And it’s a gun and a wee box of bullets. She freaks. She knows exactly where it has come from. So she wraps it back up – tells me nothing about it – and the very next day she takes it to the mad son’s house.’

Pete bit down on his lip. Chewed on some words and then resumed speaking. ‘This is where it all gets a bit Hollywood tragic. This guy lives out in Shawlands with his wife and boy. The boy was a wee bit older than you. Spoiled rotten. Anyway, this day he was home from school and he answered the door. Vi gave him the parcel and said something like, give this toy back to your father. So apparently the boy thinks everything his father has belongs to him, opens the parcel, sees the gun and is jumping for joy, thinking this is such a cool toy. He goes in to the kitchen, aims it at his mother, trying to give her a wee fright. He doesn’t know the gun is real. Or that it’s loaded. He pulls the trigger.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Kenny.

‘Aye. The mum dies. The wee fella is distraught. Can’t speak. Can’t say where he got the gun, except they all know it was sent to me. But the tragedy isn’t quite over, because about a week after the funeral the boy hangs himself.’

‘Holy fuck.’ Kenny remembered the words of Harry Fyfe. The old guy was spot-on. The truth of this story could already have been his if he
’d
only listened. ‘The family. Who were they?’ asked Kenny.

‘They were numb with grief. As you might imagine. Completely took their eye off the ball. Some other gangsters moved in. They lost nearly everything apart from the hotel. The parents sold up what possessions they had and moved to Spain. The son paid your mother a wee visit when you were out. Told her he was going to kill every last one of us. Gave her the pills and the drink and told her she could save everyone. The choice was hers.’

‘You mean?’

Peter nodded his head, his movement going back up again almost too much for him. As if the weight of the memory was robbing him of strength. ‘Matthew was more than happy to tell me all of this before he warned me out of town. You,’ – Peter looked at Kenny – ‘you were next. If I didn’t leave and promise never to return, he was
going to have you gang-raped and your throat cut in front of me.’

The two men sat in silence as the horrors of the past coalesced, shifted and worked into shadow around them. Kenny was almost robbed of the will to move as the facts and actions of the past piled one on top of the other in his mind.

Then he thought of events of the last few weeks and his father’s assertions that everything that was happening was all part of the plan. It was all part of the slow-burn of revenge.

How much patience, how much energy does it take to hate for so long?

Something his father said earlier burrowed its way out of the morass of information.

‘Matthew?’ he asked. ‘You’re saying this guy’s name is Matthew?’ It’s a common enough name in a city, but the coincidence of it was worming its way through his thoughts.

‘Aye, Matthew King.’

Kenny repeated the name. Recognition a tantalising distant. ‘Tell me more.’

‘I don’t know what he’s in to these days. Haven’t kept track.’ A shrug. ‘Apart from the hotel he used to hang out in an old gym. Well, calling it a gym was a bit of a cheek. It was a pair of long huts with some weights and mats inside.’