The Killer (8 page)

‘Jesus, and won’t I look a sight?’ he said under his breath.
He was soaking wet from the foul mixture of piss, vomit and, worse, his own shit.
As the vile potion had been mixed together it had swilled around his home due to the motion of the truck on the ferry.
‘Oh bollocks,’ he thought as he tried to inspect himself.
‘I’m fucking wet through and covered in it.
It’s in my hair, beard, fucking everywhere.’
Though he didn’t realise it, he was moaning out loud now.

The noise at the toilet end had gone from a quiet tapping to a cringing high-pitched squeal, as Steve started unscrewing and removing the cap.
The instant the cap came off an incredibly bright light assaulted his eyes as the Spanish sun invaded his home.
Steve took an involuntary step back followed by three or four more as he quickly retreated, standing well out of the stench.
He stood looking in, not daring to get too close, before calling out, ‘Hey, are you OK in there?’
On hands and knees Darren came slowly crawling out towards him.
Steve retreated even farther.
‘Holy shit, that fucking reeks to high Heaven.
Are you sure you’re all right?
Smells like something’s curled up and died,’ he exclaimed, as he stood with a mixed look of disgust and revulsion on his face.
Then the smile took over.
He couldn’t help it, but the sight of Darren’s head poking out, dripping with slime and shit, seemed altogether too funny.
He broke out laughing so hard that tears rolled down his face.

Darren jumped out and, despite making a nasty squelching sound as he hit the floor, stood and straightened his jacket and smoothed his trousers, doing his utmost to make himself look reasonably presentable.
‘I’d like to see how you
’d
look and smell under similar circumstances,’ he snapped in what he hoped was a defiant manner.

An old lady stood by watching the commotion.
She was standing in front of three very thin farmer types.
Looking down her nose, she tutted with an “I’m absolutely disgusted with you” air and pointed at a well-lit, blazing bonfire.
Pulling an even more disapproving face she stood, constantly clasping and then releasing her hands, shouting at the top of her voice and looking upwards, as if to God, protesting violently about something.
Darren couldn’t understand a single word, but he did understand the authority with which she pointed a long, sharpened stick in his direction.
Her head began to shake even more violently, and then she protested some more.

‘Who’s that old crow - and what the hell is she saying?’ Darren asked Steve, who had to brave the smell and move closer to catch his words.

‘That old crow,’ Steve happily informed him, ‘is the new woman in your life.
She’s the head of the family, and the absolute boss in these parts, and she’s cursing you.
She says that you not only look like a filthy animal, but you smell worse than any pig or cow she has ever seen in the whole of her seventy two years on Earth.’
Steve carried on grinning as he translated further.
‘Another thing, you have to strip off all of your clothes and throw them on her bonfire.
Now, she says, as that’s the only thing they’re fit for.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
Darren sulked and asked, ‘Does the old hag say anything else?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes, she does.
She says the sea is that way.’
He pointed for effect.

‘Why the fuck would I be needing to know where the bleedin’ sea is?’

‘Because that’s where you have to go and bathe, and because she won’t let you anywhere near her house smelling like that,’ Steve chuckled.

Hanging his head low Darren slowly stripped off his stinking rags.
He handed Steve
The Killer
for safe keeping and, when he was completely naked, the old girl started raving again, pointing at the bonfire and then towards the sea.
Even he didn’t need that translating so he did as she ordered and, after tossing his stuff onto the fire, wandered off with what he hoped was a modicum of dignity, naked as a jaybird - in search of the sea.

Eventually, wandering along the small pathway, he arrived at a low cliff face.
He climbed down and found himself standing in a small isolated bay with a rocky beach.
Walking towards the water he gingerly waded in.
It was bitterly cold and not at all what he had expected of sunny Mediterranean Spain, but he had to admit that it felt absolutely wonderful after his incarceration.
He had a good scrub and, as he grew accustomed to the temperature, took a long swim to ease out the pains from his cramped body.
Finally he moved to the water’s edge where he dithered until he was dry.

Darren hurried back along the trail, his arms wrapped around himself in an effort to keep warm.
Shivering as he went, he couldn’t wait to get back to put on some nice warm clothes.
Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t going to happen immediately.
He stood once more in front of the old girl, allowing her to inspect and approve of him - which she didn’t.
As she approached him, she sniffed the air, spat, and shook her head once more pointing across the yard.

‘What the bloody hell is she pointing at now?’ he wondered aloud.
Poking him along with her stick she herded Darren into a small fenced area.
Around twenty yards farther and he stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw falling open when he saw what faced him.
‘Oh no, Jesus woman, no, no, no, you can’t be serious.
That’s a - a fucking sheep dip!’

She pointed again then poked him with the sharpened stick and followed up with a well-aimed slap.
He jumped as he felt the sting across his buttocks, but tried to remain defiant.

‘Shite, no way am I getting in that.
No fucking chance you old bitch,’ he protested, but she kept prodding and slapping until he had to admit defeat and climb in.
The dip seemed even colder than the sea.

A large, oblong block of carbolic soap hit him squarely on the forehead.
The boss-lady’s mood seemed to have improved as she stood tittering away, clearly pleased with her well-aimed shot and highly amused by the sight of him standing dithering in a sheep dip.
Then the shouting started again.
One minute she was congratulating herself on her perfect aim, and the next she was screaming what, he could only assume, meant ‘wash, wash, wash!’

He scrubbed and scrubbed until he was certain, he knew for sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was finally, spotlessly, thoroughly clean.
So, after a final rinse, he climbed out and waited once more for the old crow’s approval.
She sauntered over and began sniffing him again.
She gave him a thorough inspection, lifting his arms and checking behind his ears.
Then, though she continued gabbling on and on, she actually nodded and smiled.
He could hardly believe it.

‘Have I passed inspection now?’
He looked across to Steve.

‘Yep, and you can go into the house for a proper bath.
She says so.’

The old lady cast her eye over Darren for a moment.
Then, taking him by the hand as she would a child, she led him into the derelict-looking old farmhouse and up to her bathroom.
She opened the door, whilst still holding his hand, and he stood rigid as his mouth dropped wide open.
Staring into the room Darren was stunned.
Here, in the middle of nowhere, in a rickety, old, seemingly falling to bits and dilapidated farmhouse, he was gazing on a bathroom fit for a king.
It simply oozed luxury.
The huge sunken oval bath was filled to the brim with steaming, foamy water.
The floor was tiled with marble in an intricate pattern of wild flowers, and the fittings looked as if they might be real gold.
Pushing him towards the bath, the old dear smiled again and said something else he couldn’t work out.
Then she handed him another bar of soap, which was a great improvement on having one thrown at him – and this one smelled nice too.
She offered him a few more words in her very foreign voice, blew a quick kiss, winked and left.

He eased himself down into the scalding hot water.
Sitting and relaxing in the sweet smelling bubble bath felt really good after being cooped up for so long.
He closed his eyes and slowly ducked his head below the surface.
When he came up again he sighed and started softly singing a few lines of “A Wild Colonial Boy.”
After his escape from the cold transport yard in Kinsale, a swim in the frigid sea and the freezing sheep dip, this bath felt like Heaven.

He had been soaking for around half an hour when a knock came to the door.
Darren opened his eyes and shouted for the visitor to come in.
The old girl was back again.
She stood at the doorway with a huge white towel, a pile of clothes and a friendly smile on her wizened old face.
She said something else he couldn’t understand, put down the towel and clothes, and left again.
He took a much-needed shave, doused himself in loads of fresh smelling deodorant and aftershave, dressed and left the bathroom.

He was out in the main hallway and he could hear voices.
Following the sounds he eventually ended up at the doorway of a large dining room.
Looking around the lavishly furnished room he saw the old woman seated with her family, and Steve.
As he entered, the chatting stopped as they
all
stared at him.

‘Jesus, you look better.
Now come on, hurry up, we’re all waiting to eat,’ Steve told him.

Darren took his seat at the far end of the antique dining table and listened to the conversation going on around him.
‘Where the fuck am I?’ he asked in confusion.
‘I thought you said you were taking me to Spain?’

‘You are in Spain,’ Steve confirmed.

‘Well, if I’m in Spain, how come I can’t understand a single word anyone says then?
I speak Spanish well enough, and that ain’t like any fucking Spanish I’ve ever heard.’

Steve translated for the whole table and they all broke out in fits of laughter.

‘What’s so fucking funny now?’ he demanded.

‘You are in Spain mate, and you’re in true bandit country too, but this is bandit country Spanish style.
Welcome to the Basque region.’

Steve translated again for the rest of the company and the old woman stood to introduce her family, but this time in
Español
, and Darren understood practically every word she said.

‘I am Rosa, and I am the head of the family here.
These are my sons, José, Roberto and little Valentino.
We are all very pleased to finally meet you Mr. Butch,’ quickly adding with a gummy grin, ‘now that you finally smell like a man instead of a pig.’

‘Ah, the Basque country.
Now I get it.
I’m in Bilbao then?’ he reasoned.

‘No, no, you are at my farm.
It’s close to Santoña, but not that far from Bilbao.
I have ordered my boys
not to speak Euskara, the Basque language, to you.
They will speak only in Español from now on, then we all understand, OK?’ Rosa replied.

Darren understood the words, but he was confused by his situation and looked around the table with a “please help” expression on his face.

Rosa explained to him.
‘You are here because of the problems you have in Ireland.
Did your masters tell you nothing about us?’

Shaking his head, Darren replied, ‘No.
I know about my problems, but I’ve no idea why I’m actually here with you.
No one told me anything about the Basques at all.’

Steve was watching, obviously deep in thought, as he said, ‘Look - I think I’d better explain things.
You are here to train their people.
The Basques need you to teach your own particular brand of combat to them.
But you’re also here to keep out of the Brits’ way too.’

Rosa went a little further.
‘We needed someone with specific skills to train our new fighting men quickly and, when your problem arose in Belfast, we asked for you to come here to us.’

‘Yes, but who exactly are “you”?
I still haven’t got a clue.’

‘Oh, I thought you would have guessed by now.
We are members of E.T.A. and this is one of our training camps,’ Rosa patiently explained to him.
‘Have some food now and a good night’s sleep.
Tomorrow you’ll meet the rest of the boys.
I have told them all about you, and they are looking forward to the meeting.’

Darren tucked into his meal then sat quietly thinking the last few days over with a good cognac and, of course, a cigarette or two.
Shortly afterwards he was shown to his room by the eldest son, José.
His bedroom was every bit as palatial as the bathroom and he couldn’t believe the high standard of luxury he saw in the old farmhouse.
From the outside it looked to be falling down, but everywhere he looked inside he saw valuable antique furnishings.
The place really was fit for a king.
Sighing as he climbed into the old four-poster bed, he snuggled down and closed his eyes.
In an instant he’d drifted off into a very deep and restful sleep.