Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (21 page)

Chapter 49

Restraining Order:

  At the end of July, an unusually hot month for the seaside city of Aberdeen, I tried constantly to contact May, having no joy. I missed my kids and longed to see them. Countless times I turned up at the house, most of the time out of my tits on whisky or coke, or both most times. She now had a restraining order, I couldn’t go within half a mile of her, or my kids.

  One Saturday night, wasted on coke, around eleven thirty, I ordered Micky to drive out to Inverurie from The Fountain, stopping for a couple extra lines on the way.

  “May, open the fuckin’ door! I want to see the kids!” Pounding the door viciously with the outside of my fist, trying desperately to get inside, fag hanging out my mouth.

  I could hear the kids in tears and probably May too, but I didn’t care. Snorting a couple of grams that night with Micky, I wasn’t in a fit state to be in the company of my kids. It was so quiet at that time of night, I’m sure I woke the whole neighbourhood.

  “FUCK OFF JOE! YOU’RE NOT WANTED HERE! I’ve called the police!” She screamed from the window above.

  “Come on May! Just open the door, MAY! Ten minutes, max!” Desperate, drunk, and out of control, I started to thump down the door with the sole of my boot.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! The door weakened, splints of wood came loose from the Yale lock. Thundering the door with both feet, it caved in.

  Micky sprinted out the Volvo, through the gate, up the steps leading to the door.

“Joe, stop! FUCKIN’ STOP!”  Micky crashed to the floor, tripping over the front step.

  May waited, agitated at the top of the landing outside Junior’s bedroom. Pushing my palms onto her chest, I catapulted her through our bedroom door. Bursting into Junior’s room, I found him and Jess perched on the edge of the bed, petrified and holding each other in their arms.

  “Kids!, How are you?” My arms held out open, then leaning in to cuddle them. Trembling, they didn't respond, their bodies tried to wriggle away. I squeezed them tight, terrifying them even more.

  “Daddy, what are you doing to Mommy?” Jess asked, completely confused to what was going on. Junior sat with his head between his legs. May had risen, then hysterically burst into the room, punching my back and kicking the back of my legs.

“GET FUCKING OUT, YOU! GET OUT!!!” Turning round, using my weight, I shoulder-charged her into a chest of drawers.

  Mickey entered. “Joe, what the fuck you doing? Get out of here, the pigs will be on their way!” As he spoke, the sirens sounded. They were already here. Four uniformed filth came storming in the door, truncheons in hand.

  “GET OUT THE WAY!” They shouted, running up the stairs.

  May pulled Jess into the lobby, Junior followed them out. They tossed Micky to the floor, his skinny frame thundering down outside Junior’s door, two pigs on top.

  That left the other two for me. Handling both, flooring the first one, smashing a bedside-lamp across his face. I wrestled the other, holding him in a headlock, repeatedly punching him in the face.

  The rest of the squad arrived right behind them, striking the back of my legs with their truncheons, gripping me in a choke-hold before pinning me to the floor. My head buried into the carpet from the weight of a copper’s knee. My hands and feet tie-wrapped. Picking me up, they carried me out like a log.

  Screaming to the top of my lungs “Fuckin’ pig fucks! I’ll find out where you fuckin’ stay and fuck your wives!”

  Needless to say this is when the restraining order came out. Spending the rest of the weekend in the cells until Monday, having yet another interview with detective sergeant Barry Magill, who was not very pleased to see me. Having to come in on his weekend off didn't please him in the slightest.

 
My lifestyle dramatically changed since beating Masson. For the worse. Drinking, smoking and snorting powde
r
every day, I was out of control.

  Getting paid handsomely for my victory against Masson and taking in a salary from Mr Dean each month, couriered up to Aberdeen from a member of his staff, made me reckless, free-spending on whatever high I wanted.  Spending hundreds on gear each week.

  With another fight in the middle of August, I wasn't in a good place, mentally. I was on a self-destruct mission of sex, drugs, alcohol, rage and violence.

  The fight was close to home this time, in the top floor of Bon-Accord centre parking complex, against ex-professional boxer, Matt MacGregor from Glasgow. All being set up by Mike Jenkins with Mr Dean’s permission. Bare-knuckle for ten rounds, this would be very different from the unlicensed scraps. I wasn’t training, I was taking coke every day, thinking I was invincible.

Me and Micky spent almost every day together, wherever it was, inside The Fountain, round at his place, or at his dealer’s flat on Hayton road. We were kept well-stocked by Kenny Mackie’s limitless supply of gear. Spending nights unwelcomed at Katie's, coming in coked out my box. Bloodshot eyes with an unpredictable personality filled with tins of lager, I was bad news. Disappearing regularly to the toilet, murdering line after line. She knew exactly what I was. Terrified of me, she had to let me in. Making her feel trapped in her own home, probably fearing for her kids’ lives.

  Was this how my mother felt all those years?

  The endless supply of coke left me with a short fuse and Katie wound me up, sitting on her phone all night WhatsApping and Snapchatting. Testing my patience. My insecurities about myself and a bucket load of jealousy flooded out.  Katie started to hide her second life from me , knowing it would annoy me.

  Her kids were starting to get to know me more, as I came in more often when they weren't in bed. They didn’t like me, and I didn’t like them. Little fucking pests. One night we were switching channels on the telly.

  “Joe, put East Enders on.” Katie shouted trying to grab the remote, I kept it out of her reach.

  “No, woman. I’m watching the football.” Aberdeen were playing in a Europa league qualifying match.

  “Listen, it’s my TV. Put it on.” I didn’t like it when she made demands. It wound me up more than her phone.

  “Put it fuckin’ on!” Yelling in my ear. Taking the butt of my right elbow, I jacked it through her temple as we sat side by side. Clenching my teeth together.

“Keep that fuckin’ shut, woman.” 

  Lying motionless on the sofa, a sudden flashback of my Mother's corpse came into my mind. Freaking out, I legged it out the door. I had hit an all-time low, disgusted at the person I was turning into.

Chapter 50

Pre - McGregor Fight:

  Nine days before the 27th August. The McGregor fight in sight. I’d spent the past seven weeks with a note on the end of my nose and a bottle in my hand. Me and Micky went out every night and got home early. We drank through the day and perked our hangovers up with a line. Eating wasn’t important and neither was training. I had lost May. I kept calling, but there was still no contact between us.

  My damaged past and troubles of the present, took a grip on me. Thinking I’d be able to walk in and out of the scrap without care, was a serious mistake. That morning in the gym, told the story.

  Pounding at the bag for ten minutes, getting past the initial break of sticky sweat, I didn't feel right. Tim held the bag as I went through the motions, seeing my struggle. Three, two minute rounds later my chest tightened. Carrying on, my heart ached, similar to a tight cramp. I couldn't breathe, coming over lightheaded, gripping my chest as it felt I was entering a spasm.

  I passed out.

  Coming to, Tim was holding me, his arms around my chest, shaking me from side to side. Confused, I took my time to register what happened. Hoisting me to my feet, he led me over to the weight-bench.

  “Fuck me, Joe. What happened?” Looking as stunned as I felt.

  “Fuck knows, just got some chest pain an’ passed out.” Coming to terms with the fall, I knew my body had been pushed too far in the past weeks. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

  “Joe, you’re a fuckin’ coke-head, look at the state of you. You’re blowing out your arse after a few rounds. How the fuck are you dealing with McGregor? You need to buck-up here, this guy’s an ex-boxer.”

  “Aye, I know mate.” As usual, he was straight to the point.

  “You’ve got to cancel this fight.”

  “No chance. We can’t cancel, not an option.” I was very definite. It wasn’t an option to pull away from this.

  “Just train me until the fight and I’ll worry about the rest.” Tim was right, I was a coke-head, hooked on the rush and it was about time I admitted it. Every day I craved line after line, making me sweat uncontrollably, shake violently and take hot-flashes. I was in serious trouble, but had to grind it out the same as I’ve always dealt with my difficulties.

  With my coordination coming back, I wobbled through to the changing-room to splash my face with water. Turning the tap on, I gazed into the mirror, not recognizing the eyes staring back. My flattened nose red raw, skin peeling off the sides of my nostrils, my once bright eyes had lost colour, greasy skin with wrinkles gathering under my eyelids. Hair out of shape and needing a cut. My face worn out with the recent abuse and family grief. Looking a different man to the one I knew. What had happened?

  I had little recollection of the past couple of months. Tim appeared as my drained face reflected in the mirror. Now thirty three, looking fifty three.

  “You need to sort yourself out, lad.”

  “I know mate, I know.” I understood his concern, I was out of control.

  “Get out for a jog, sweat it out, I’ll wait here. We can start fresh, Thursday night when the rest of the lads are here.”

  Flicking my hood over my aging face, I jogged through the Tilly streets for twenty minutes, finding it hard to battle through. Struggling for breath, legs feeling like they were dragging the weight of the world, my chest so tight. My body wanted to shut down. I used the time to reflect on what was happening to me.

  After a while, I changed thoughts to Matt McGregor. Had to make the most of the short nine days left, do what I could. A retired boxer and fit as fuck, two advantages I’d be giving up straight away.

  Tim was waiting outside Kilgours when I got back.

  “My ticker’s going to pack in.” My face bright red.

  “Aye, it looks it. Let’s get some grub, then I’ll take you back to The Fountain. I’ve got some work to do this afternoon, for Mike and Bull.”

  “Good man. Cheers.” Scraping the bottom of the barrel, I needed someone like Tim looking out for me. “What work?”

  “There’s a big cash order going into Skinner in a month or so, heading down the road to Glasgow, somewhere. We need to shift his equipment to a new location. The feds are on to him. The next order’s massive. Four million in twenties, so he doesn't want to take chances. Doing it  tonight, we just need to meet in Montrose, beforehand.”

  “Four fuckin’ million?! Fuck me!” That’s a lot o’ ink cartridges.”

  “Aye, that’s the size o’ the orders now. His paper’s in major demand.” Tim took me back to The Fountain via Pizza Hut for a good feed. I did the sensible thing for a change, stayed in my room and tried to relax, fatigued from the drama earlier in the day. Margaret was in the kitchen cooking the supper for later on, when my phone rang.

  “Mr Marks, how are you?”

  “Just fine, Steve. Yourself?”

  “Good, good. I have some news for you.” Sounding overeager.

  “I’ve got something I need to run by you, as well.”

  “I’m setting up the fight with The Reaper at the start of November, at Glasgow docks, you’ll get your chance.”

  “No problem, Steve.”

  “McGregor will be difficult for you and you have to win. But, The Reaper will dismember you, rip you limb from limb if you’re not ready. There’s no one that will fight him now, he’s too dangerous. However, I have faith in you.” His confidence in me was unquestionable, but the confidence in myself was the non-existent. Quite frankly, I was lost on this road but the end was in sight. All I had to do was get past McGregor.

  “I know who he is Steve, I won’t let you down.” Seeming sure of myself but in reality, I’d never been so sceptical about what I was doing.

  “What did you want to tell me?” Mr Dean asked.

Chapter 51

Ball Point:

  Three nights before the McGregor fight, I tended the bar for Margaret who wasn’t feeling well. A discreet Thursday night. Micky mixing at the bar with the locals. The juke-box volume kept low. I stayed off the powder and ale for the past week, feeling human again. Micky looked anguished sipping his pint, staring into space from time to time. Thinking he was having a bad come-down, or maybe paranoid.

  “Joe, want a dram?” Micky asked.

  “No mate, orange-juice for me the night. No drinking behind the bar.” The unlicensed boxing was rarely talked about in public. Certain people knew about it and when anyone asked, I would conveniently change the subject. Similar to the football-hooligan scene, everyone knew but nobody spoke about it, unless you were all involved. You never knew who couldn’t be trusted.

  “Fuckin’ orange juice, always knew you were a poof.”  Nodding me out the way of the punters, wanting a moment in private.

  “What is it?”

Leaning his weight over the oak surface. “I have a wee problem.” He sounded seriously concerned, something I’d never seen. Anxious and jumpy, rather than his usual quirky and hyper.

  “Remember that cunt Billy I kicked the fuck out of?”

  “Aye, we ended up in the nick, remember.”

  “Don’t be a clever dick. His old man's getting out soon, and word is, he’s going to be on the look-out for me.”

  “What’s his name?” This was going to end in trouble, I just knew it straight away.

  “Harry ‘Ball Point’ Duncan earned his name because he tried to murder his own brother by beating him senseless with the ball-point end of a hammer. “He’s coming for me, I know it.” Micky said with concern.

This was a big problem. A man being released from jail after an eighteen-year stretch for the attempted murder of his brother and probably wanted to blow- off steam, Micky MacDonald was right in the firing line.

  “We’ll just have to put the word out, be ready for him. I’ll tell Tim to spread the word, too. Don’t worry mate, it’ll be fine. He might even be a reformed character, you never know. When’s he getting out?”

  “Aye, right. Piss off! You and me both know that won’t be the case”. Relaxing back into his stool. “I’m no’ sure when, I’m trying to find out.” Micky could handle himself, that was for sure, but when there's a man on a revenge mission, they will stop at nothing for redemption.

  I setup a WhatsApp group, adding Micky, Bull, Tim, and some locals I could trust. Everyone loved Micky despite his aggressive side after a few drinks. He disappeared to the toilet, probably to sedate his worried state. His paranoid head was about to get much worse in the coming weeks. Having my face buried into my phone, Katie appeared.

  “Hi, Joe.” An inviting smile.

  “How are you?” I gave her a smile back, happy to see her lovely face. She came in wearing a tight pair of jeans, her plump ass squeezed perfectly into them, and a t-shirt showing her inked arm. Looking casual, but so fucking hot at the same time. Her freshly dyed midnight-blue hair glowing under the bar lights.

  “Aye, I’m good. What’s new with you?” We hadn’t seen each other since I elbowed her in the face. I got the feeling she was as hooked on me, as I was on her. She craved the need for attention, and I was certainty willing to give her some, in private.

  “No much, chick. You’re looking amazing the night. Coming up to see me after am finished?”

  “Mmm, feed me drink all night and I probably will, Joe.” Her eyes dropped their guard, whisking me back under her spell. I had a deep love for her, which was obvious by the way I lost myself in her company. I loved everything about her and enjoyed sharing conversations. When I spoke to her, I forgot about all my troubles. If I got to spend the rest of my life with this woman, I’d count myself a blessed man.

  “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened. I was out of control.” The hurt that I felt after my action really tore me up inside, and I had to let her know that.

  “Yeah, I know Joe. Now give me some shots, baby.” I fed her shots and drink all night, hauling her upstairs after closing time to have another amazing night of passion, screwing her roughly up against the wall, throwing her around the room like a rag doll, both moaning with lust until the early hours.