Ripped (74 page)

'I
got
a
fright,'
Mary
O'Bannion
was
saying
in
her
high
childish voice.
'You're
not
putting
that
into
me,
I
told
him.
No,
he
said,
I
can't
find
anybody
to
take
it.
If
I
could
find
somebody
to
take
it,
I'd
make
her
rich.
Jesus,
maybe,'
she
said,
'If l
met
him
now.
I
was awful
young
then.
But
it
was
terrible
big.
Like
a
bloody
great
length
of
hose
and
as
thick
as
your
arm.
He
drove
up
to
Loch
Lomond
and
back
while
I
wanked
him.
I
mean
it
never
stopped.
It
just
kept
coming
all
the
way.'
She
gave
him
a
sideways
glance.
'After
him,
I
was
ready
for
anything.'

'Close
your
dirty
mouth,'
he
said,
but
casually
as
if
she
could
not
disturb
him.

When
he
came
to
Moirhill
Road,
instead
of
turning
north towards
Frances
Fernie's
flat
he
swung
the
other
way.
It
might
not
make
any
difference,
but,
despite
the
burning
in
his
hand,
he
did
his
best
to
take
a
roundabout
route.
Still
hoping
to
confuse
her,
he
stopped
a
street
away
from
the
flat.

'This
is
it.'

'I've
only
my
slippers
on.
You
didn't
give
me
any
time
to
get
my
shoes
on.
I've
no
coat.'

'It's
not
far.'

She
groaned
and
struggled
to
turn
off
the
seat,
her
bulk
sagging
and
catching
at
every
obstacle.
With
his
undamaged
hand,
he
made
a
fist
and
struck
her
a
blow
like
a
stick
on
a
cow's
rump
.

Out
of
the
car,
he
herded
her
by
a
grey
stone
wall
.
Muted,
the
noise
of
traffic
from
the
main
road
played
background
to
her
sighing
and
muttering
and
the
slap
of
her
carpet
slippers
on
the
pavement.
As
they
rounded
the
corner,
they
came
in
view
of
a
group
of
people
standing
on
the
pavement
at
the
entrance
to
Frances
Fernie's
close
.
There
were
half
a
dozen
young
women,
and
two
men,
one
grey
haired
and
the
other
not
much
older
than
the
girls.
There
was
a
workshop
of
some
kind
up
there,
he
remembered;
it
was
late
afternoon
and,
finished
for
the
day,
they
lingered
for
a
moment
in
the
sunshine
talking
before
going
home.
He
saw
the
younger
man
turn
the
round
thickness
of
his
glasses
towards
them
and
say
something.
The
others
looked
and
floated
their
surprise
and
amusement
like
a
set
of
matched
pink
and
white
balloons.
Through
their
eyes
he
saw
a
man
in
a
shabby
blue
suit
escorting
an
enormously
fat
woman,
shoeless,
floundering,
coatless
in
a
flowered
dress
too
short
to
hide
her
white
fish-belly
thighs
mottled
red
with
sitting
too
close
to
the
fire.

'Where
is
this
fucking
place?'
she
gasped.

'It's
not
far.'

She
stopped
and
dribbled
obscenities
while
the
group
stared
towards
them.

'I'm
not
making
a
fool
of
you,'
Murray
said,
too
softly.

'What?
I
can't
fucking
hear
you.'

The
pain
in
his
hand
was
at
a
distance;
but
the
pain
in
his
skull
was
himself,
threatened
to
replace
himself
.
Street
and
watchers
queasily
spread
and
separated
.
'Move,'
he
snarled.

But
as
they
approached
the
entrance,
he
saw
that
the
grille
had
been
pulled
shut
and
locked
.
He
would
have
to
ask
for
it
to
be
opened
.
As
they
hesitated,
no
one
in
the
group
smiled;
it
hung
silent
around
them.
At
close
quarters,
it
did
not
find
them
funny.
The
wounded
animal
was
dangerous
.
The
woman
something
corrupt
accidentally
exposed
to
the
light.

He
could
not
bring
himself
to
speak.

As
he
went
on,
the
stillness
was
so
absolute
that
all
he
could
hear
was
the
sigh
of
the
woman's
breath
by
his
side.
After
a
dozen
steps,
she
came
to
a
halt.

'I've
had
enough
of
this,'
Mary
O'Bannion
said.

'Yes.'

She
billowed
around
to
stare
back
the
way
they
had
come.
'Was
it
one
of
them?
You
never
fucking
said.
I
didn't
look
at them
right.'

Under
her
gaze,
the
group
drew
together
as
if
for
protection.
'I've
changed
my
mind.
Forget
it,'
he
said.
'You
can
find
your own
way
back
.
'