Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (24 page)

Chapter 57

In The zone:

  Alarm struck at 7am, time to get up, time to run. Every morning I rose, there was a procedure. Take a shot of ‘Deca’, eat two bananas, drink water, wrap up warm and pound the Aberdeen streets.

  Four miles every morning, no matter how painful, boring or cold it was.

  The distance left me time to ponder my date with destiny, my life and how it’s spiraled out of my control. Feeling like I was on a journey that had already been laid out in stone. It drove me to complete this massive task on my hands. Sending all emotional baggage to hate, the only way I’d get through this.

  I didn’t talk to anyone, except Tim or Margaret. Releasing Katie from my grip, I didn’t want her in my life for this, too addictive, too much of a distraction. I loved her too much to bring my life of destruction down her road any more. Causing her too much pain already, she deserved better. Maybe after this is all over, there might be a future for us, maybe?

  Margaret was well aware of what was taking place on November 7th. She lived in a man’s world, knew my reasons for throwing myself into this. Taking it upon herself to look after me even more after Micky passed, I felt the duty to repay her a favour. Seemed like she was recovering from the ordeal quite well. Telling her my story of why I had to do this stunned her, leaving her worrying that I too might be murdered. Reassuring her I wouldn’t, was a lie, there was every possibility that could be the outcome.

  Two weeks to go. Tim sent me through Hell every training session. Two hours every day, including the weekends, at 11am.

  “Come on, get on wi’ it! Fifty more push-ups!” The morning warm-up consisted of two hundred reps of every exercise. Sit-ups, squat-thrusts, pull-ups and press-ups. Fifty each at a time, repeating the process four times. After that was done, fifteen minutes skipping, then shadow-boxing for five rounds with 4kg weights to speed up my hands, then onto the bag for ten rounds of torture, then pad-work.

  Three days a week, the bag being punished without gloves. The skin on my knuckles now never broke. Hardened by the grueling training. The hard bag so solid when hit, it hardly swung unless I released, let go. It was frightening, able to turn instantly into a boiling beast, leaving a dent when done.

  A heavy weight-training program was introduced. Tim brought in an Olympic Bar, a stand and stacks of heavy weights. Using the bar every day became religious. Squatting 240kg, dead-lifting 280kg, bench-pressing 180kg, turning my body stronger than ever before. Combined with the flow of rage from the steroids, my boxing ability, years of pain and motivation, I was a formidable force. He pushed me further past my point of retiring, every session. It was welcomed, I needed it more than ever.

  Tim saw the fury in my eyes erupt on a daily basis. Blanking out from time to time. The ‘Deca’ taking effect, adding to my deep well of anger. Words were few in that time. In a deep mental trance, I cared for nobody and nothing, fixated on the end of the journey, end to the burning torment.

  “Thirty seconds left! Come on, let’s get it out!”

  “Agggh! Agggh! Aghhh! Aaaaahhgg!” With every punch, I howled and hissed. I breathed like a possessed vampire at the sight of blood, inhaling and exhaling heavily unable to calm, feeling the terrifying urge to disembowel The Reaper, rip him apart, end him.

  The terror in Tim’s eyes. What had he got me into, he asked himself. Too late for that Tim, here and in the moment.

  The ‘roids helped send me the furthest along the road of destruction I had ever been on. Pumping the blood to my muscles, feeling like some days I could go on and on. It added to my level of aggression, but I learned to hold it in for when it counts.

  Thirty minutes of pad-work continued with little breaks exhausting me, then the ‘roids would kick in, give me more energy. Gave me so much, it took two hours each day to drain the tank.

  There was no sparring leading up to the bout, Tim instructing that it was too dangerous, I was too dangerous and didn’t need it. Holding my temper was difficult, another reason I cut Katie loose. The damage I could inflict on her, I didn’t want to think about.

  “Right, outside and flip the tyre.” Bringing in a used tractor-tyre weighing a hundred and forty kilos, spending a few rounds at the end of every session flipping it up and down the small parking area in any weather, rain or shine. Doing this exercise at the end of each session, was designed to physically and mentally break me. Four, three minute rounds of flipping the tyre drove me to breaking point each day, exhausting me, running out of kick from the steroids.

  The training made me ravenous, I ate constantly, cooked my own food during the day and Margaret made me supper every night. I helped in the bar only when required, normally I would offer help for the room, but I didn’t care for company, I wanted the solitude of my bedsit. Didn’t want to make small-talk, or laugh at bad jokes.

  Only wanted The Reaper’s reign to end.

Chapter 58

Mags:

  The morning of the fight was a cold one, the first of this year’s frost layered on top of the cars. Margaret came round early to cook me up some breakfast and send me a farewell. Sitting in one of the bar-booths, we ate and enjoyed a lovely feed. Full Scottish breakfast with plenty of extras. I grew so close to her over the past six months. She was worried I wouldn’t return. And, so was I.

  “This breakfast is brilliant, Mags. Thanks.” Nobody called her by that except me, but it felt like I should be saying Mom.

  “Joe, you don’t have to say thanks, it’s my pleasure, honey.” With no idea where I was headed after today, there was a chance I’d never see Mags again, so I needed her to know I was grateful.

  “I just want to say something.”  Her face was blank, thinking she knew I was saying a last goodbye in case I never returned. “I want to say thanks for everything. I didn’t deserve any help and you gave me a roof when I had nowhere to go.”

“You can thank me when you’re back. I want to see you come back, honey.” Her jaw fluttered, holding in a tear. She wasn’t willing to accept there was a chance I wouldn’t be able to walk into The Fountain Bar again.

  Accept it, I had to. But, I had to say thanks to her, give her some closure, just in case.

  “Joe, do you have to do this? It’s madness!” Placing her hand over mine at the table.

  “Mags, I’ve told you, this has to be finished so I can move on with life.” I explained this a few times, the only person I could open up to, because I trusted her.

  “Joe, this is crazy.” Her eyes teared up.

  “This will be all over by tomorrow morning, then it’ll be forgotten.” No words from her would change my decision. This path had been set out for me since the day I was born, and ends tonight.

  While waiting for Tim to pick me up, we chatted about Micky, reminiscing about his crazy personality and the mischief he got up to in The Fountain. Right there, that morning, I felt a profound happiness sharing time with Mags, content this part of my life would end tonight, even if I had to walk through the gates of Hell to get there.

  Tim turned up at 10.50 and it was time to say goodbye.

  “Joe, take care down there.” Mags giving me a hug, squeezing the life from me, passing tears, I feared it would kill her if I didn’t come back. “You make sure and text me. OK, Joe?”

  Cupping her cheeks with my hands, I reassured her. “Of course I’ll text you. See you later, OK?” I kissed her on the forehead, hugged her, and then left with Tim.

  “Well. Ready?”

  “Aye, I’ll be ready when the time comes. After this, I’m out.”

  “I’m doing the same, like.” He surprised me, he seemed very at home in this world, maybe he was too comfortable.

  “Shite! You won’t get out this game.”

  “No seriously, that’s it. I’ve seen enough.” Everything he'd seen me go through, pushed him to the edge. Besides he had a family, eventually they'd be pulled in somewhere down the line.

  “What you going to do, ‘en?”

  “My scrap business. Gonna make a go of it. Want a job?” Fuck me! All I wanted was a job in the first place, now he’s offering me one.

  “Aye, I’ll have a job!” That was it settled, after today was over, I would work for Tim, suited me fine. Get me back on the straight and narrow.

  Taking off my jacket, I slouched down in the passenger seat for what I hoped would be the last time I’d have to, shutting my eyes and ignoring the world. My body by this point had been pushed to its limits, the past month in the gym. My brain drained, but in the right space, my body fatigued, but more ready than ever. I only had one more workout to complete. That would push me mentally and physically to the edge of life itself.

  Stories surfacing. The Reaper was like a man possessed, hearing a nobody from the Granite City being lined up as his replacement. As far as I knew, he'd only ever had bare-knuckle fights. I didn’t know much about his past, only what Mr Dean told, which wasn’t much. The money wasn’t important to me here.

  Living out my demons and having a future, was everything.

Chapter 59

The Docks:

  Arriving near the venue too early after Tim grabbed some supper, I had no appetite. We pulled into the banks of the neglected shipyard on the edge of the Clyde. The traffic noise of Glasgow buzzing in the background, but the sound of water trickling downstream made it feel peaceful, the river adding to the cold chill in my body that night. We parked outside a large, brown-cladded fabrication shed, still operating. This must be it, I said to myself.

  “That’s it over there, see it?” Tim pointed over to a derelict square building, hundreds of metres away to the east.

  “Why the fuck we parked over here?”

 
“See this huge welding shop. There’s a tunnel stretching from here to that building over there.” This obviously happened before. Tim’s knowledge of the place no coincidence.

  “How the fuck do you know that?”

  “I’ve been here before, lad. Many years ago.” Tunnels were common around the shipyards, mainly used for running electrical mains cables under the river and across the huge expanse of land. Tonight, the tunnels would be used as a gateway into the venue, as they had been, time and time before. Parking the cars beside the massive fabrication shed was a good disguise, misleading snoopers and the filth from the trail.

  “It’s too early to head over.”

  “Aye, I know. Come on, we'll find a pub an’ chill out for an hour-ish.” Fucking sick of pubs. Usually by this time, I’d be tortured by anxiety and nerves. Something else pre-occupied me, something I had to know was done, before concentrating on my reason for being here.

  “You hear that?” My phone rang from inside the Merc.

Call from Steve Dean:

  “Steve.”

  “Joe, you in Glasgow yet?”

  “Aye, we’re here.”

  “I hear the truck’s in London as we speak. It’s your call.” It wasn’t my call, it was in another man’s hands, a man that I would be delighted to see the back of.

  “Sorry, Mr Dean. It’s not in my hands at all. I’m waiting on confirmation.”

  “And what about your friend, Skinner?”

  “No word yet, I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Remember Mr Rhodes, this stays between us. Understand?” The reference to the family name I disowned, telling me I was still in his pocket, and how much information he held over my head.

  “Perfectly, Steve.” Not one for goodbyes, he hung up. I searched for a number I didn’t care to have in my contacts list. Bewildered by the conversation, Tim tilted his head and screwed up his face. “What the fuck’s going on?”

Call to Detective Magill:

   “Where’s the truck?” I asked.

  “It’s just pulled up in a lorry depot. We’re waiting for the switch, before we jump in.”

  “And Skinner?”

  “Just preparing the road-block, shouldn’t be long. Are you at the venue?”

  “Aye, I’m here. There’s nobody here yet. Stick to the plan. I’ll text you the address later on.” My plan was coming together, not long now.

  “Joe, you’re doing the right thing here.” Magill tried to reassure me being a snitch was creditable. It wasn’t, but what choice did I have? I had a burning need for something. Willing to do anything for that one chance I needed.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Utterly bamboozled, Tim couldn’t understand. His first thought I was a snitch, working with the filth, playing Mr Dean.

  “You’re on a ‘need to know basis’ and you don’t need to know, my friend.” I had to return the call to Mr Dean, update him on the progress.

Call back to Steve Dean:

“Steve, both arrests are close to completion.”

  “Excellent, Joe. The gun deal will be proceeding as planned.” Once again, he hung up. His conversations short and sweet, preferring conducting business face-to-face, analysing body language.  

  “Look! Will you tell me what the fuck’s happening here.” Tim’s brain ticked over, trying to find the answer. “Are you working for the filth?”

  In a way yes, I was. But, working with them to trap Magill in my web.                                                                 “No Tim, this is retribution.”