Hymn From A Village (4 page)

He passed it over for me to hold.

The silence was unsettling. I decided to break it.

“What’s the going rate for the moon’s fisherman these days?”

He looked up at me, eyes hidden behind his shades. Instead of answering he put his fingers to his mouth and blew me a kiss.

I felt bad for the waiter. Looked over in case he’d seen.

I don’t think he’d noticed anything. Instead, he was waving my bag over his head and running in my direction.

The way he flew through the air reminded me of Dee when she was thrown from her pony.

He landed before me, his body taking the shape of the drawing.

One of his shoes rolled along the gutter and came to rest in the middle of the road.

The tinkling of coins stopped only when the body came to rest, the waiter staring at the floor like a fish at a market stall.

And the crocheteur?

Gone, just like the drawing and his equipment.

I took a drag on the cigarette he’d given me to hold. Coughed my lungs up as the tobacco hit. Emptied my stomach into the canal and looked at the moon’s reflection in the ripples of the water.

A
fter all he’d dished out he must surely have got the message. I wasn’t about to tell them shit.

Smashed my nose, pulled teeth, took nails and sent shocks through my private parts and I still hadn’t spilled a bean.

Even broke my fingers.

Hell, I used to do that on purpose when I was a kid when I didn’t want to eat my greens. Freaked my parents out watching me bend the fuckers till they cracked. Surest way I knew of getting out of stuff.

“Where’s Jamie-Ray?” The old bastard was getting tired and sweating all over the place. The man needs to go out there and join a gym you ask me.

Did my best to shrug my shoulders. Wasn’t easy with my hands tied to the chair. Scumbag hadn’t even given me a cushion.

Wilson raised the wrench over his head like he was about to use it.

I smiled.

He used it.

When I came round I was still trussed up, only I was lying on my side in a sticky red pool.

At least there wasn’t no Bart Wilson there. All I had to do was get myself to a hospital and explain.

Took me a couple a hours to get my hands free. After that it was plain sailing.

Headed down to Accident and Emergency.

Had to go through the same old crap.

“Have you been taking drugs, sir?” They usually ask that. Sometimes it’s about drinking and others it’s about mental health, but mostly it’s the drugs.

I wasn’t in fit shape to answer. Tried, but something wasn’t working in the mouth department.

“You think there’s something wrong? Would you open wide?”

She was just playing me along, I could tell. Waiting to send me up to see a shrink or something.

A couple of other nurses came over. Hovered over the desk trying to look busy. Like they’d be any good at security if the lady needed help.

I opened my mouth like she asked.

“Oh my word,” she said. “Sit yourself over there and I’ll get a doctor over as soon as one’s available.”

She started being nice. Came round and put her arms round my shoulders. Guided me to the waiting area.

“Can I get you something for the pain?”

They never get it. Not even when I can tell them.

I took off my hat.

She inhaled and made a noise like she was breathing through a bicycle pump.

First things first, I had to go and find my sister, Pinky, and her boyfriend. Tell them things weren’t looking so good.

I’d dropped them off at Bart’s place, just like we’d arranged. Watched them go in through the front calm as the Mediterranean. Bouncers looked them up and down, gave them a token frisk and let them by. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just my luck to get moved on by the police. That wasn’t in the plan. Guess they had to take the train or a taxi. Fuck knows how they were supposed to move the stuff without the car.

I didn’t get to find out what happened till I heard it from Bart Wilson back in his torture chamber.

Pinky and Jamie-Ray had interrupted the game. Pulled out guns and aimed them right at the croupier. Course they knew Jamie-Ray right off. He’d been dealing the cards and spinning wheels alongside me for six months. Smiling and taking their money.

Unfortunately Bart was there with his cousins watching the way the cards were falling.

On any one day, there might be one security guy up there. With Bart and his cousins, that made six.

Jamie-Ray must’ve panicked. Started shooting up the place.

Pinky had to so the same.

So now Bart doesn’t have any cousins.

Bad news for us is he’s the youngest of seven brothers. Worse, he’s the runt of the litter.

Me and Pinky have always been close. We share things. A football team, friends and our mum and dad. Things she used to do to get out of shit, she was worse than me.

Been called Pinky ever since her conjunctivitis.

Our parents are just regular folk. They could never have expected us to come out the way we did.

When they mixed their genes together, threw in their X’s and Y’s we’re what came out of the mix.

There were three of us to begin with. Me and Pinky and Josh. We all had it. Congenital Pain Insensitivity. Can’t never get hurt. Feel sensations but nothing else. None of us cried when they cut our feet for the Guthrie test. Guess they must have suspected we were different soon as we were born.

Sounds like a blessing, right? Never getting sore.

Wasn’t so good for Josh. He fell asleep by the fire one night. Was only five. Somehow he caught light. By the time my parents got to him all they could do was save the house. If he could’ve felt the pain he’d a woken himself up. Put himself out.

Guess that just made Pinks and me closer. Did as many things as a girl and a boy can do together, apart from the sex stuff of course. She’s had Jamie-Ray for that this past year. I tried to warn her off, but she wasn’t having it.

Must’ve fallen for all that muscle and the Aussie twang.

Asked him once what he did over there.

“This and that,” he told me.

And why he’d come over in such a hurry.

“Pissed my bosses off by taking a lot of their money.” He didn’t look to sorry about what he’d done. “They weren’t going to give up till I was floating upside down under the Harbour Bridge.”

“So where’s the money?” I asked him. If he was so rich, how come he was living with Pinky in a ex-council flat in need of more repairs than a stock car?

“When I get word things are cool, we’ll go and pick it up.” I didn’t like the way he said we. “Show Pinky the cities and the outback then we’ll settle somewhere fine. You’ll come and visit.”

Halle-bloody-lulia.

Eventually word came from Oz that things were calm.

Jamie-Ray and Pinky, they were all set for leaving as soon as they could. Only problem was they’d spent all they had on a camper van that broke down on them on the Edgeware Road. A mechanic friend of Pinky’s said there was nothing to be done.

They were stony-broke.

And that’s when Jamie-Ray came up with his plan.

Soon as I opened the door I knew something was up. For a start, something was blocking way in. For another there was no stink of Brylcream.

My mouth still wasn’t fit for talking. As it turned out, that was the first lucky break I’d had in a while.

The shots came from the bedroom.

My instinct was to run like hell, but I managed to get over that pretty quick.

Instead I sprinted to the kitchen, picked out a couple of the biggest knives and ran through.

The balcony door was open, so I thought I’d go and take a look. Problem was I tripped over someone on the way.

I could only see the legs when I looked back.

The trousers had turn-ups, but the shoes were regular black leather affairs. That’s how come I knew it wasn’t Jamie-Ray. He never wears anything but winkle-pickers. Reckon he still thinks it’s 1959, with his leather jackets and his fancy shirts and all.

I gave the legs a pull to see who came out.

It wasn’t easy to tell with half his face missing and the other half covered in blood. Only real clue I had was the ginger hair. Wilson was a carrot top. Wasn’t Wilson though, at least not Bart. Bart never went out without a flower pinned to his lapel. Best guess was that it was one of his brothers.

Can’t say I gave a shit about the guy I’d found. He probably had it coming to him.

It was the blood on the bed that had me worried. It was already dry.

And then there were the red circles leading to the door.

I followed them out on to the balcony. By the time I got there, all I could see was nothing.

London’s a big city. Aren’t they all?

You’d think it would be easy enough to lie low for a while. Jump on a tube and stay on it till the end of the line. That’s what I’d have done.

Jamie-Ray doesn’t think that way, though. Nor does Pinky anymore.

They sent me a text checking in. I’d have called back, only I still couldn’t talk. Texted instead. I’d meet him at the usual place at midnight.

I went home to bed to catch a couple of hour’s nap. Had to lie with my head propped up to keep the taste of metal out of my throat. Didn’t sleep a wink. Came up with a new plan. Don’t reckon I’ll ever do my thinking when I’m half asleep ever again.

Kite Hill’s just about my favourite place when it’s dark. There’s hardly anyone around if you don’t count the men-folk cruising the bushes looking for their own kind.

All you have for company is the hum of traffic and all you’ve got to do is think your thoughts.

The city stretches out in front of you whichever way you look, like there’s nothing else in the world but people going about their business.

Didn’t enjoy it in the usual way knowing the Wilson brothers would be turning over every stone out there to see if Jamie-Ray came out a crawling, ready to squash him dead under their heels. Not that I gave a shit about him. Problem was if they were going out looking for him, chances are Pinky was going to get hers, too.

Could hardly see Jamie-Ray coming up the path, his black hair and black clothes camouflaging him against the darkness. Heard him well enough. Gene Vincent was leaking out of his headphones. ‘Race With The Devil’.

Gave me one of his Aussie shakes and sat down.

I took out my pen and pad. Asked how they were.

“Tell you the truth, I’m not sure.”

“Where’s Pinks?” I wrote.

He lit his cigarette and ran his fingers through his hair. Must’ve been worried that the breeze had mussed it up. “She’s at Jenny’s. Jenny’s doing what she can, but she doesn’t know the first thing about gunshot wounds.”

“Fuck man,” I wrote. “Shouldn’t you be getting her to a hospital.” I don’t know if it was the cold or what, but my hands were shaking pretty bad. I lit up a cigarette of my own. Helped me to calm down.

“Can’t risk it. Soon as they report it as a gunshot wound, Bart’s men’ll hear and it’ll be Bye Bye Miss American Pie.” He spat. Made a noise with his lips. Looked at me for some kind of appreciation like spitting was an art-form where he comes from.

I dropped the pen.

“We need you to go to the flat. We’ve got the cash, but no passports. Go to the flat, pick them up and pack a couple of bags and half the money’s yours.” He was a bastard. I was supposed to be getting a cut anyway just for doing the driving.

He passed me my pen and waited for me to write something down.

I didn’t do anything for a while. Didn’t agree to anything. Then I wrote that I’d see him tomorrow night. Same time, same place.

He got up from the bench, flicked the ash off his jeans and lifted his leg. I watched him as he brought down his winkle pickers onto my feet as hard as he could manage. It was the way he said goodbye.

“Get’s me every time.” Me too. “You and you’re sister are the luckiest mother’s around.”

Setting up a meet with Wilson seemed to me like walking into the lion’s den all covered in gravy.

If he knew about his brother, he was hardly going to be full of his usual peace and love.

“What the fuck do you want?” he said as I was shown in to his office. I’d never seen the place in the daylight before. I was impressed.

I pointed to the wires on my teeth that were holding my jaw in place and pointed over to his laptop.

He wheeled over his computer chair. As soon as my buttocks hit the seat he pushed me towards the desk.

I opened Word. Was faced by a big white glare from the new page. First thing I did was the first thing I always do, changed the background to tan.

As I wrote I kept Bart within my field of vision. Watched him take something out of his inside pocket. It was either a cigarette or a gun.

Bart doesn’t smoke. Things weren’t looking good.

“Didn’t think I’d see you ever again,” he said, rubbing the barrel of his pistol across his forehead. “This is the plank I was telling you about, Gerry.”

Gerry was the spitting image of Bart only he was half as tall and twice as wide. The only other difference as far as I could see was the piece missing from his ear. “Thought he didn’t have anything to give us.”

“That’d be right. Gave him the works and he didn’t budge a bloomin’ inch.” He’d never talked like that before. It was as if he’d come over all Michael Caine.

I set to type as quickly as possible, but that’s not very fast on account of all the breaks I’ve had in my fingers. “I didn’t say nothing because I didn’t feel nothing.”

“You know Ger, this prick is really pissing me off.”

“Can’t feel pain. Never could.”

Before I could do anything, he grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the table. “Show me.”

The blast was loud. I felt something touch my palm and felt it go away. I picked up my arm and looked down at the desk. A small, circular hole had appeared at the edge of its green leather top. It was singed at the edges and let out tiny curls of smoke.