Ripped (59 page)

'I'm
not
looking
for
trade,'
she
said.

'Have
the
drink
anyway
.
'

She
emptied
the
glass
with
a
greedy
swallow
as
if
he
might
change
his
mind
without
warning.

'It's
just
that
I
have
an
appointment,'
she
explained
.

'You're
going
to
get
your
hair
styled.'

'No,'
she
said
seriously.
'It's
with
the
doctor.
That's
why
I
couldn't
break
it,
like.
I
need
to
see
him.
My
stomach's
giving
me laldie.
If
it
wasn't –'

'Take
this
– it'll
cure
you.
Save
you
a
visit
to
the
doctor.'
He
pushed
his
own
glass
across
to
her.
She
took
it
but
stared
at
him
uncertainly.
'It's
okay.
I'll
get
myself
another
one
-
in
a
minute.'

'If
it
wasn't
for
the
doctor,
mind
you,'
she
continued
automatically
and
drank.
'It
was
a
doctor
that
did
it
to
me.
A
black doctor
in
Greenock.
He
made
a
mess
of
me
inside.'

'Tough.'

'Have
you
got
a
car?'
Murray
shook
his
head.

'You
see
if
you'd
wheels
.
..
I
was
going
to
say
I
could've
given you
relief,
like.
And
been
in
time
for
the
doctor.
It's
time
– that's
the
trouble.'

'You'll
make
time
for
another
drink
though.'

'If
you're
offering.'
She
stirred
with
a
dull
animal
suspicion.

He
collected
drinks
from
the
silent
barman
and
as
he
sat
down
told
her,
'I'm
looking
for
somebody.'

'I
know,
love.
Listen,
what
about
later –'

'Mary
O'Bannion.
I'm
looking
for
Mary
O'Bannion.'

'Oh.
You're
a
man
with
a
weapon.'

'How
would
that
be?'

'You
hit
her,
and
she
hits
you.
I
don't
do
that
stuff,
darling.
I've
had
too
much
pain
in
my
life.
No
offence,
like.'

A
pulse
of
pain
like
anger
flared
behind
his
right
eye
and
at
the
base
of
his
skull.
It
was
bad,
but
he
could
cope
with
it.
What
troubled
him
was
the
unremitting
ache;
too
slight
to
be
painful,
it
was
like
the
pressure
of
some
small
muzzled
animal
pushing
to
get
out.
It
had
been
trying
since
he
had
wakened
in
the
hospital.

A
man
with
a
weapon
,
there
was
nothing
to
smile
about
in
her
now.
Nothing
at
all.

'Would
fifty
pounds
make
you
late
for
the
doctor?'

'I
need
to
see
him.'
Once
an
idea
had
lodged
in
her
head
it
took
time
for
it
to
make
room
for
another.
Greed
began
the
nudging
process.
'Fifty?
What
would
you
want?'

'You
stand
against
a
wall
and
let
me
punch
you
in
the
stomach.'
He
watched
the
colour
leave
her
face.

'I
wouldn't
be
surprised
if
you've
got
something
wrong
with
your
stomach
right
enough,'
he
said.
'You
should
see
a
doctor.'

'I
told
you,'
she
said
vacantly.
'I'm
going
to
see
him
.
I
told
you. That's
not
on,
what
you
wanted.'

'Not
for
a
hundred?'

'Have
you
got
a
ton
on
you?'

Perhaps
deliberately
she
let
her
voice
rise
on
the
question.
From
the
corner
of
his
eye,
Murray
caught
the
tilt
of
the
dog's
mask
turning.
Because
of
the
pain,
because
he
had
been
offended,
he
had
behaved
like
a
fool.

He
laughed
easily.

'You
must
think
I'm
a
clown.
It
was
just
a
joke.
With
you
going
on
about
having
to
see
the
doctor
...
like
.
.
.
No
offence?'

By
mere
instinct,
she
reacted
to
the
aggression
he
gave
off despite
himself
.

'You
want
to
watch
it,'
she
said
with
a
yellow
grimace.
'If I
put
the
boys
on
to
you,
you'll
get
a
tanking.'

Murray
took
a
deep
breath
and
sat
back
.
He
rubbed
a
hand over
his
face.

'I'm
sorry,
love.
I
know
you're
not
feeling
well.
You're
worried
about
the
doctor.
You've
had
a
rough
time.
Here,
I
was
just
wanting
to
give
you
a
drink –
something
to
take
the
pain
away,
eh?
A
joke
can
do
that
too
sometimes,
isn't
that
right?
But
that
was
a
stupid
joke.
Definitely
a
stupid
joke,
eh?'

He
offered
a
monotone
of
sympathy
like
a
man
soothing
a
spooked
horse.

'Definitely,'
she
said.
'You
want
to
watch
your
mouth.'