57

Anthony

 

 

            When the call finally came it made him feel like he was having a heart attack.  He jumped and panicked so much that he dropped the phone onto the floor of the car, and spent an agonising ten seconds frantically searching for it under the drivers seat.  With it finally grasped firmly in his hands, Anthony answered the call and held the phone to his ear.  What he heard did not bode well.  Danny’s voice, sounding desperate and high pitched.  Danny saying he was worried about his friend, who had not moved or made a sound.  That part made Anthony zip up his coat and go to get out of the car.  What the hell had happened to Mike?

He had to listen to more.  It didn’t sound good.  Danny was obviously in pain, had obviously had a beating.  They must have been ambushed on the way in.  Fuck! He had thought to himself uselessly, lashing out and punching the steering wheel, those fucking bastards!

Jerry Howard was arguing with Danny. “Anything he did to you, was for your own good you pathetic whining little specimen…”  The argument went on and on, Danny sounded frustrated, getting angrier as Howard repeatedly denied the truth about his son.  Anthony listened in, phone pressed against his ear, his other hand on the door handle, poised to leap out.  Things were heating up.  Jerry was getting angrier. Was Danny doing it on purpose to get Anthony’s attention? “Get up!” he was shouting now, and there was scuffling noises, “get the fuck up now!”

Shit, that’s it, Anthony thought, flinging open the car door and leaping out with the phone still glued to his ear.  “It’s all true, it’s true, I wish I hadn’t killed him but that’s why I did it!”  There was a loud bang, and then nothing. 

“What the fuck?” howled Anthony, pulling the phone away and looking at it in horror.  The call had ended.  He brought Danny’s number back up, pressed call.  Nothing.  Dead.  Shit.  He started running, stopped, looked at his phone again, and brought up the police stations number.  The phone burst into life again, scaring him stupid and making him drop it a second time. “Fuck!” he yelled at himself, and snatched it up from the ground to answer it.  It was Lucy.  “Lucy?”

“Anthony! Listen, you won’t believe this, me and Kay just had a visit from that reporter woman!” Lucy’s voice was slightly distorted Anthony thought, the line was crackling badly.

“Who?  What?  Lucy, I can’t talk right now, I’ve got to call the cops!”

“Call them, call them!” she was screaming back at him. “We’re on the way to them! Haskell gave us some tapes Anthony! She said it has all the conversations on she ever had with Howard! He admits everything!”

Anthony stopped walking.  He stared ahead at the club, then over his shoulder at the road that twisted around to the police station.  “What?” he cried in disbelief.

“Yes! Yes! She recorded all her meetings with him! We can nail him Anthony! You have to get out of there, you have to leave it to the police!”

“It’s too late!” Anthony cried back, suddenly breaking into a run, the club in his sights. “Mike and Danny are in there! It’s all gone fucking wrong Lucy! Call the cops, I’m going in after them!” He hung up and raced breathlessly across the road towards the club.

 

 

58

Danny

 

            The violence lasted longer this time.  He dipped in and out of consciousness, pondering the nature of it while it occurred.  He seemed to feel oddly at peace with it.  It was almost like after a certain amount of time, you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.  The other men didn’t have to hold him any longer.  He was down on the floor and he was staying there.  After a while, the kicking and the punching stopped, and he could hear the old man wheezing loudly. Good, he thought in amusement, give yourself a fucking heart attack you old bastard.

“What’s the plan?” Danny heard Nick Groves asking calmly.  Jerry Howard coughed a few times, hawked up something and spat it out onto the floor near Danny.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he growled. “But I certainly feel better for that.”

“We’ll check on the other one again.”

“Fine.”

Danny opened his eyes then.  He found Jerry Howards burning back into his, just inches away, and he smiled at him. “What the fuck are you smiling about eh?” the old man demanded, blowing furious breath out from his flared nostrils. “Now I can really see why Lee liked battering you, you fucking ask for it don’t you eh? You little wind up merchant!”

“It’s just funny,” Danny coughed. “You look just like he did. Leaning over me in the kitchen…slamming my head into the floor…loving it. Until I fucking knifed him.”

“Well see if you find this funny, you worthless little cunt,” the old man leaned closer.  Danny could smell the whiskey he had drunk on his breath.  “I’ve got your money. I’ve got your apology. I’ve beaten the crap out of you. Now I’m sat here trying to decide whether to finish you off or not.”

Danny coughed in reply.  He felt like his lungs were clogged with blood.  It was getting difficult to breathe. Just like last time, he remembered calmly, and I was okay, I was okay.  Jerry Howard rested his elbow on his bent knee and scratched the back of his head, as if in deep contemplation.  “That’s right,” he said. “You put my son in the ground, now I’m trying to decide whether to put you in there as well. I’m trying to decide how I feel about spending the last of my days in prison, knowing that you’re in the ground.  How about that eh? That make you smile eh?”

“Well at least everyone will know the truth,” Danny croaked his reply, and he raised an arm slowly, reaching out for Jerry Howard. He closed his fingers on the old man’s shirt. “Haskells’ story…what you’ve done here…Everyone will know why I did it and everyone will know he pushed me to it…so go ahead old man.  If that’s what you want.”

“I think it might be…” Jerry replied, slapping Danny’s hand away from him.  He reached inside his shirt and brought something out.  Danny could see it reflecting the overhead lights back across the room.  His stomach dropped into nowhere.  Coldness spread down his spine.  He realised then that he was still afraid.  He realised then that he did want to live.  He put his hand back out, snatched at the material of Jerry’s shirt, trying to reach for the knife.  Jerry leaned back slightly, a cold and eerie smile touching his thin lips, as he ran his eyes up and down the blade he held in one hand.  “Do you want to know how he felt, eh?” he asked. “Do you want to know how it feels to be sliced up? Stabbed to death? Knifed, over and over again?  You did that to him, you little fucker, you have that in you. You like to think you’re the victim eh? You like to think you were so innocent?  You like to make out you’re the good guys, and we’re the bad guys, eh? Is that right?” He turned the blade over in his hand, lifted it up and brought it back down. Danny could only see out of one eye.  He reached again, he reached for the knife, he reached out. “You’re just the same as us,” the old man told him, holding it away from his grasping fingers. “You’re a cold blooded killer.”

No, no, no.

“In the old days it was always an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. You killed my son. Now I’ll kill you.”

No, no, no, no, that’s not how it goes, that’s not what happens, no, no, no it’s not the bad guys that win, it’s not the bad guys that win, it’s not….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

59

Anthony

 

            He had never run so fast in all his life.  He ran as fast as he could, and it still didn’t seem fast enough.  He arrived around the back of the club, and flung himself at the locked back door.  Panicked, he looked around for a weapon, just as he could hear the sirens already wailing behind him.  He couldn’t find anything, so leapt back up the steps and hammered wildly against the door. He heard the screech of tyres as the first police car skidded into the alley.  He heard a voice behind the door.

“Who’s there?”

“Let me in!” Anthony roared blindly, “fucking let me in!”

“Out the way, get out the way!” Voices behind him, boots pounding, more cars spinning and screaming into the alley. Anthony was forced aside.

“They’re in there!” he cried out helplessly, as the policemen ran up to the door, battering ram in hand.  They did not knock, or call out any warning, they merely started to batter the door down.  Anthony stood back, watching in fear, his hands raking through his hair.  The door submitted, flinging back, bits of metal and screws from the hinges flying out.  The police ran in, a whole load of them, and Anthony went with them.  He felt hands on him, pulling him back.

“Not you! Out you go!”

Anthony shook them off.  They had all clattered through to the main part of the club.  He could hear them shouting, warning. “Get on the floor! Get on the floor now!”

One of them was kneeling to the side of the hallway, as the rest of them bundled past.  Michael.  Oh holy fuck, Jesus Christ, oh shitting hell Mikey! Anthony landed on his knees beside him.  The policeman was already on his radio. “Ambulance!” he was crying out.  Anthony put his hands down on his brother, who was not moving, not making a sound.  There was a puddle of blood and his head was lying in it. “Don’t touch him, don’t move him!” the policeman barked.

“He’s my brother! He’s my little brother!”

“He’ll be alright. He’s still breathing.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Mike? Mike?”

“Sir, you have to get back outside!”

“No, no I’m not leaving him.”

Police were on their way back through, two of them hauling the huge figure of Nick Groves, his hands cuffed behind his back.  Anthony glared at him from the floor.  He wanted to leap to his feet and beat the guy to death.  But his legs were like jelly, and his head was swimming.  Nick Groves was pushed roughly past him and out into the night, followed closely by the other man.

Anthony found his brothers hand, lying cold and still under his stomach.  He pulled it gently out and closed his fingers over it. “Hold on, yeah?” he told him. “Just hold on Mikey, you’ll be okay, I promise.”

There was another screech of tyres and wail of sirens out in the alley. “That’s the ambulance,” the policeman informed him, patting his shoulder. “They’ll look after him.”

Anthony looked on uselessly as two paramedics rushed into the hallway and surrounded Michael on the floor. A policeman’s head appeared around the door then. He nodded at the paramedics. “Got another one in here!” he cried urgently. “Need you quick!”

One of the paramedics leapt back up and followed suit. Anthony looked up, as it registered slowly in his mind. He patted Michael on the arm. “I’ll be right back little brother,” he said, and to the man working on him. “you look after him, right?”

He got to his feet, walked quickly from the hallway and into the main part of the club.  More paramedics came rushing past him, nearly knocking him flying in their rush to reach the figure in the corner.  Anthony covered his mouth with both hands.  There were two police officers snapping cuffs onto the wrists of Jerry Howard, who looked stony faced, his top lip curled in a snarl.  Lying on the floor, close to the stage, was Danny.  He was not moving either.  The paramedics were working in a frenzy, pressing huge wads of bandages against his abdomen, where Anthony could see fresh bright blood pumping steadily through.

55

Michael

 

                        There was a horrible pain in his head. It was unbearable.  He felt immediately frightened and alarmed. Something was wrong.  His head felt like it had been split in two.  He was face down on a grubby floor. He moved his arms up, found his face with his shaking hands, and looked at them.  They were bright red, slick with his own blood.  His vision was blurring in and out.  He felt his stomach lurch horribly and an uncontrollable rush of vomit hurled up his throat, splattering violently across the floor in front of him.

            He tried to move.  His legs didn’t feel connected to the rest of him.  He thought dimly of his phone, but he didn’t know where it was, or how to get it.  His head was on fire. He kept it still. His cheek pressed into the floor. He wondered if he was going to die. He wondered where Danny was.  His ears trained in on noises close by. Swearing, scuffling, grunting.  There was nothing he could do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

56

Lucy

 

                        She had made herself some pasta for dinner, but had only managed to eat a quarter of it.  Every mouthful seeming to stick and lodge in her throat, making her want to gag.  It didn’t seem worth it in the end.  She pushed the plate aside, covered her face with her hands and gave in to a good cry.  What did it matter?  She was all alone.  No one would know.  When she felt better, she got up, scraped the leftover food into the bin, and did the washing up.  Her phone rested on the worktop the whole time, ignoring her, blanking her, telling her nothing.

            To kill time, Lucy went and had a shower.  She got out, and realised she should have had a bath. It was nice and relaxing for the baby, she remembered. That was when she felt it move the most.  When she was submerged in the warm water, hands wrapped around her belly, eyes closed.  She would feel it awaken inside of her.  Start to stretch, and wriggle and jolt.  Sometimes it made her laugh out loud. What do you think you are doing in there? She would imagine it turning somersaults, and using its tiny feet to bounce against her womb like a trampoline. 

            She put on her pyjamas even though it was early.  Her phone accompanied her to the bedroom and sat quietly on the bed while she dressed, still refusing to speak to her.  She pulled on her dressing gown, tied it around the middle and went to plonk herself down on the sofa with a warm throw, and some rubbish to watch on TV. He’ll be alright, she kept telling herself as she walked to the lounge, phone in hand, no news is good news, he’ll call any minute now to let me know he’s okay.

            She was about to drop onto the sofa when she heard the doorbell ring.  At once, she froze in uncertainty.  The doorbell or the phone ringing were no longer as harmless things.  Instead she found herself imagining all the nasty people who could be on the other end of them.

            Lucy wandered slowly and quietly down the hallway towards the front door.  The bell rang again.  Whoever was out there did not have much patience, for some reason.  “Who is it?” she called out, something she had never done before.

            “Me, Kay!” the voice called back, and then as an afterthought; “Sorry!”

            Lucy breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door to her.  Danny’s mother bundled quickly in, holding out her mobile phone as if it were on fire.  “Are you alright?” Lucy asked her.  Kay showed her the phone.

            “No, I’m worried about Danny, I can’t get hold of him and he sent me a really weird message when I was at work! I only just saw it, look!”

            Lucy took the phone and walked into the kitchen.  She put the kettle on, and read the message Kay was so worked up about; hoping to end it all 2nite, don’t worry have friends with me, gonna do the right thing, love u, Danny. It felt like a stab in the heart, and Lucy had to turn away quickly, snatching down mugs from the shelf to make the teas, so that Kay would not see its effect on her.

            “I know,” she told her. “Him and Michael came to see me on my lunch break at school.”

            “What the hell did they say?” Kay demanded, taking back her phone. “What the hell are they doing Lucy?”

            “As far as I know, just going to see Jerry Howard, like Danny has planned for a while now.  You know yourself what he wants from him.” Lucy wiped away a pointless tear and turned to face Kay, while the kettle boiled.  “I guess that’s what they’ve gone to do.”

            “But this message!” Kay cried, holding the phone up again.  “It sounds like he’s not coming back! Don’t you think?”

            “No, no it doesn’t say that, he doesn’t mean it like that.”

            “But this bit, this bit, love you! He never  says he loves me Lucy, never.” Kay tossed the phone onto the table as if it enraged her.  She pushed her hands into the front pockets of her long woollen coat. Lucy could see that she was angry and scared.

            “He’ll be fine,” she nodded at her. “He’s got Anthony and Michael with him. He’s not alone.”

            “There’s not a part of you that doesn’t see these messages like those letters he wrote for you lot? Before he came to kill Lee?”

            “No!” Lucy cried, offended by the idea. She turned her back to make the tea, and heard Kay pull out a chair and sit down with a sigh.  “It’s not the same at all Kay. You’re getting all worked up.  Jerry asked to see him, right? He’s gone to do the right thing, to give the money back and apologise I should think.”

            “You think so?” Kay asked, her tone pleading. “You really think that?”

            “I think that’s what he means by ‘the right thing’, yes.”  Lucy placed the two steaming mugs on the table and pulled up the chair opposite.  She sat down, and suddenly felt overwhelming tiredness hitting her.  She yawned and rubbed at her eyes, and then blinked down at the table, and the two mobile phones lying there desolately. Call, you bastard, call.

            “Can I wait with you?” Kay asked her then, picking up her tea.  “Until we hear from them?  I don’t think I could bear to go back to my empty flat right now.”

            “Of course you can,” Lucy smiled at her across the table. “We’ll kill the time together.”

            They sat on opposite sides of the table, their hands wrapped around their mugs of tea.  Kay frowned and cocked her head to the music coming softly from the lounge.

            “What have you got on?”

            “Danny lent me some CD’s he picked up from the shop,” Lucy said, with a smile. “You know what he’s like. Insisting that I listen to them!”

            “Does he still like Nirvana?” Kay asked, meeting Lucy’s eye. Lucy felt sad looking at her then.  She looked her age for a moment, haunted.  Her eyes shone with tears yet to fall. “He always used to like Nirvana.  That’s what I remember the most.  Coming from his room.  He had the posters all over his walls. Got his hair to look like the singers, remember?”

            “He still likes Nirvana,” Lucy nodded at her warmly, and she could see that this reassured Kay for some reason. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and she drank slowly from her mug of tea.  “I think they’ll always be his favourite,” she added.

            They both jumped when the doorbell rang again, Lucy spilling half of her tea over the kitchen table.   She put a hand to her chest, laughing at herself. Kay glanced anxiously into the hallway. “Are you expecting anyone?”

            “No.”

            “Ask who it is again. Just in case.”

            Lucy nodded and got up from the table, just as the doorbell rang for the second time.  She called out to the door. “Who is it?”

            “Caroline Haskell,” came the voice from the other side. “Can I speak to you please?”

            Lucy’s breath hitched in her throat.  That woman.  No, she did not want to speak to that woman.  She took a step towards the door, and heard Kay stepping into the hallway behind her.  “What the hell does she want?”

            “I don’t know,” Lucy said, and opened the door.

            Caroline Haskell stood on the doorstep, her hair windswept, and her eyes red.  She did not appear to be the well groomed, confident young woman Lucy had seen before.  “What do you want?” she asked in confusion.  The woman thrust something at her, something heavy swinging inside a carrier bag.

            “I need you to have this.”

            Lucy took it hesitantly. “What is it?”

            “It’s tapes.  Tapes I made every time I met with Jerry Howard.”

            Lucy’s mouth fell open.  She swung to look at Kay, who hovered unsurely behind, eyes dark with worry.  She looked back at Caroline Haskell, who now shoved her hands into the pockets of her mac. “I saw Danny earlier,” she said. “He knows the truth about me.  He said the only thing I could do now was go to the police with everything I know.  But I don’t seem to have the guts for that.” She flicked back her hair and nodded at Lucy. “I thought you probably do though.”

            “I don’t understand…”

            “I never liked Howard, I never trusted him, and I never believed Danny needed to be punished anymore for killing his stepdad.  I just wanted the story.  For my own reasons.”

            Lucy looked helplessly down at the bag, then back at the woman. “I still don’t…what do you want me to do?”

            “Go to the police.  I’d go soon if I were you.  He said he was going to see Jerry, and believe me, that is not a good idea.  It’s all there.  Everything you need to nail that man for what he’s done.  He even admits to drug dealing on those.  They can raid his businesses and his homes.  He’ll be finished.”  Caroline Haskell shook back her hair and stepped away from the door, looking like she was in a hurry to be gone. Lucy struggled to find something to say to her.  She leaned forward out of the door, the carrier bag swinging ominously from one hand.

            “Caroline,” she called after her.  The woman had gone down the steps, but stopped and looked back.  “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome,” she nodded, and then gestured to the bag.  “I’d hurry up and do it if I were you.” Then she turned abruptly on her heel, and marched away.  Lucy ducked back inside her flat, craving the security of it.  She slammed the door and turned to face Kay, who was looking as bewildered as she felt. 

            “Did you get all that?”

            “I did.”

            “What the hell shall we do?”

            “Get dressed, and get in the car. We’ll take them to the police right now.”

52

Danny

 

 

Danny did not see Michael getting head-butted by Nick Groves, but he heard him go down.  He spun around in alarm, just in time to see Michael crumple onto the floor, blood gushing vibrantly from his face.  He lay in a heap, soundless, not moving.  Danny raised his gaze, and the flat hard glare of Nick Grove’s eyes bore back into his. “Mike!” he called out, stepping towards him.  As he moved, he sensed someone behind him, someone who had been lying in wait the whole time.  He was grabbed from behind, large hands clamping down on his arms. He remembered his phone in his pocket, and struggled frantically to get his hand back in there, to hit the call button that would let Anthony know what was happening. 

“Let’s be having you,” said Nick Groves, clapping his hands together again and stepping briskly over Michael.  He came at Danny like a tank, his broad frame filling the hallway, his fist shooting out, jabbing a gut wrenching shot right into his abdomen.  Danny grunted, his head falling forward, his arms still wrenched back behind.  The other man was giggling.  “That was for Lee,” Groves told him pleasantly. “And this one is for Jack.”  Danny saw the knee coming towards his face, and turned his head just in time to avoid his nose being smashed to pieces. Instead he felt the weight of the force hit his lower jaw, slamming his bottom teeth into his top ones.  He tasted the blood as it filled his mouth, and he was thinking oh shit, shit, shit, I’m gonna’ get killed, I’m gonna’ get killed.

He was spun around, pushed along, and it was all coming back to him in surreal waves of recognition.  The hallway was narrow, made narrower by boxes of stock taking up space.  Howard’s office had been to the right, and at the very end was the kitchen, where he had spent so many hot, airless nights, with his sleeves rolled up, hands plunged into soapy water.  Jumping around, nervous and afraid, his jaw chattering, his eyes growing bigger as the speed took hold.

He nearly drowned me once, in that kitchen, he held my head under the water because I asked the DJ to play The Stone Roses and he did, and it wound him up.

He struggled against the arms that held him from behind.  He needed to get to his phone.  Anthony was just sat there in his pocket waiting to be alerted, waiting to send help.  He had to get his hand in there somehow. The man holding him wrestled him through to the main part of the club.  He lifted his head, flicking back his hair, feeling the blood drip down from his mouth.  The place had not changed much, he noted, looking around.  He remembered how Lee Howard had refitted it not long after taking it over.  He had turned it from a scruffy little dive into something far swankier. 

“There’s someone here who wants to see you mate,” Nick Groves said then, appearing at his side and slipping his hand around Danny’s right arm.  Danny looked at the other man, who had taken his left arm, and saw he had also been in the Old Inne that night. Danny did not bother to struggle.  What would be the point?  He needed to save his energy. He stood still between them, panting quietly from the pain in his gut and face, and realising that his right hand was only an inch or so away from his pocket.

“Where is he then?” he asked, swallowing blood. “Come on, I haven’t got all night.”

“You always were a cheeky little bastard,” Jerry Howard’s voice rasped from behind him.  Danny twisted his head to look over his shoulder.  Jerry Howard was stood behind the bar, just as his son had once done, night after night, like a King holding court over his empire. He was wearing a light blue shirt, open at the neck, with expensive looking grey suit trousers.  He held one hand loosely in one pocket, while his other hand caressed a glass with what looked like a shot of whiskey in it.  He looked calm, and ready, and satisfied, and he looked at Danny as if he had never hated anyone so much in all his life. Danny sucked in his breath, felt the old fear shiver through him. Those eyes.  For a moment, he felt lost within them, and he felt convinced that it was really Lee stood there, older and greyer, but just as big, just as dangerous, with those eyes that made him want to shrivel up and die. He could do nothing but stare. “Lee said that about you, right from the start.”

Jerry Howard, it’s Jerry, it’s Jerry, it’s not Lee, it’s not him, tipped his whiskey down his throat, licked his lips and dropped the glass onto the bar with a bang that made Danny jump.  He started to walk slowly around the bar.  He did not have his stick with him, and walked with a very slight limp on his left side.  As he walked, he undid the cuffs of his shirt, and rolled each sleeve up to his elbows, very slowly and deliberately, his eyes locked onto Danny’s the entire time.  Danny took a chance to see if he could get to his phone, but the second he moved his arm, it was wrenched back into place, and held tighter on both sides.  He watched Jerry coming and he felt like a fly caught in a spiders web. If he couldn’t hit call on his phone, then he was in trouble.

He felt small again.  He felt like he had been transported back in time.  It was happening all over again.  He had been a bad boy and he was going to get punished.  Lee only liked good boys, didn’t he?  He had to be a good boy, and toe the fucking line, and every time Lee thought he had got it through to him, he would go and fuck up again, and Lee would get angry. What is it gonna’ take to get it through to you?

Fuck…this was bound to happen, bound to happen.

Jerry Howard was in front of him.  Danny looked him up and down, opened his mouth to say something, and felt the man’s right hook slam into his left eye.  He remembered then that the man had been a keen boxer.  That he had owned his own gym, training boys to be men.  He felt the power behind the punch, sending his head back on his neck, hot sparks of pain exploding within his eye socket.  Oh, this was going to be bad.  He panicked, tried again to get his hand to his pocket, but the two men held him tightly, and he was worried that if he made it look too obvious that he was trying to get to his pocket, then they would check in it.

Jerry Howard rocked back on his heels, boxers fists now settled back into the pockets of his smart trousers. “I’m going to take you apart slowly, like you did to my son,” he informed Danny brightly.

“Murdering little bastard,” Nick Groves sneered into his ear. Danny looked back at Jerry Howard, and found his vision had gone a little blurry. He could already feel the skin around his eye swelling up nicely.  Before long his eye would be completely closed up. 

“With the help of your two mates here?” he asked Jerry, glancing at either side of him.  “Just like your son, eh?  A bully and a coward.”

Jerry raised his eyebrows, stepped calmly forward, lifted Danny’s chin and smashed his fist into his mouth.  He felt his legs go.  For a moment, the pain was blinding, and he could not get his grip on the floor.  Fresh blood pumped from his torn lips.  He wanted to cry and to laugh at the same time.  They held him up. Drop me, fucking let me drop, he thought in desperation, so I can get to my fucking phone.

“I don’t need them, for your information, mister smart mouth,” came Jerry Howards growling voice, through the darkness that had momentarily filled Danny’s mind. “I could beat you to death all on my own, even at my advanced age.  I just thought it would be fun for them to be here, you know? Nick and Phil here were both good friends to my son.  They were boys from my gym, you know.  Like poor old Jack, God rest his soul. They’ve probably got a few things to say to you themselves.”

“Too right, I fucking have,” Nick Groves snarled into his ear again, hauling Danny back up every time his legs gave way.  He finally found the floor again, planted his feet as firmly as he could, and let his back rest against the bar behind.  It occurred to him then that he had first met Jack Freeman at this very bar, sat a few stools down, whiskey sodden and wearing that ratty old overcoat he’d lived in. 

“This is how it always is with you people,” Danny said then, his vision clearing, his broken lips pulling into a wry grin for Jerry. “Three against one, that’s really fair…That’s really hard and brave…Just like your son…And Jack. Always picking on people smaller and weaker…Nice.”

He saw Jerry take up his boxers stance again, one foot forward, fists raised, ready to strike.  “And what you did was fair, was it?” he asked, his pale blue eyes seething with hatred. “Kniving a man to death in his own kitchen?  Taking his pulse to make sure he was dead?  Laughing about it?”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Danny said quickly, and he saw the confusion in Jerry’s eyes. He nodded at him. “Is that what you want to hear Jerry? I shouldn’t have done it, I fucking know that now. I hated him, and I wanted him dead, I wanted him dead for years, but I shouldn’t have killed him. It was wrong.”

“Bit too late to say that now,” Jerry responded, and hit him in the stomach. Danny found himself doubled over, as far as they would allow him, coughing for air, unable to speak or breathe. 

“You punch….just…like your son…” he managed to croak when there was enough air back in his lungs to talk with.  Oh let me drop, why won’t you bastards just let me drop so I can get to my phone?

“I taught him well,” came the proud reply.  Danny was wrenched back up to face him.  He couldn’t stop himself from smiling.  He wondered if he was close to insanity.  All the fear seemed to have dripped away.  Now he just felt wild with disbelief.

“You did, didn’t you?” he panted. “You really did… You taught him how to punch and kick and pull hair, and slap, and use his belt, you taught him how to do all those things, but was he meant to do them to a thirteen year old kid?” Danny made a bemused face, his head cocked to one side. “Just wondering if that was part of the training at your precious gym, that’s all…How to get really big and strong and tough, and then beat the shit out of people much smaller and weaker?”

Jerry laughed at him, but it was a brittle, humourless sound, and he stepped forward, grabbed Danny by the hair and pulled him forward, so that their faces were nearly touching.  “He tried to be a good dad to you, you ungrateful little shit. He took you on. Your own father didn’t give a shit, did he eh? Your mother could not control you. Oh yeah,” he nodded, his eyes gleaming. “I know everything Daniel. I know how you treated your mother before Lee came along. Getting arrested, getting in fights, getting drunk. You were nothing but a spoilt, arrogant little shit, and he tried to get you in line, that’s all.”

“Get me in line?” Danny questioned, swallowing back laughter. “Oh yeah, he tried… he really tried, he was always saying that…one day I’ll get you in line, whatever the fuck that means.”

“It means trying to bring you up to be a decent, hardworking person, like my son was. What have you ever done eh? You were a drugged up, messed up little shit stain causing trouble for everyone, then you murdered my son, and went to jail, and now look at you! Swanning around with your pockets full of money, my son’s money! And you’ve never done a thing to deserve it!”

“That’s right…I didn’t do a thing to deserve it. I didn’t deserve the way he treated me, and why would you believe anything else? You obviously treated him the same way to have created such a monster!”

“He was a successful business man!” Jerry roared into his face, spittle flying from his tight lips. His face was contorted with rage.

“He was a drug dealing child beating psychopath!”

Jerry bellowed his protest and pummelled his fists into Danny’s body, while the men held him up.  “You killed him! You vicious little thug! You went there loaded with knives! You stabbed him again and again and again! You watched my son die on his own kitchen floor!”

The blows came again and again, until Danny would not have been able to stand had they let him.  His legs were useless to him, he tried to cry out, to call for help, to awake Michael in the hallway, but there was no room to breathe or speak.  Pain rolled in and out like in brutal waves.  I probably deserve it, he thought to himself before blacking out, I killed his son. I killed his son.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

53

Anthony

 

            He was tapping his feet against the floor, drumming his hands against his thighs, his mind a whirl of endless awful possibilities. Again and again he looked at his phone, which was now hot to the touch he had been gripping it so long. No messages, no calls, no nothing.  He was on the verge of calling them, but that wasn’t the plan.  Danny was meant to call him when they entered the building, so that he could pick up and listen in to everything that went on.  Why hadn’t Danny called him? Why?

            Anthony checked the time. Less than a minute from the last time he had checked, it was only ten minutes past six, but surely that was more than enough time for them to get into the club?  They should be in there now, in that building right there, so why hadn’t Danny called him?  What if they had done something really stupid, like left their phones in the car?  Or ran out of battery, or credit?

            Anthony could feel the panic taking him over. He got out of the car, lit a cigarette and paced about restlessly, even though he was meant to stay in the car and wait for the call. He thought about the police station, just minutes away. He thought about Michael and Danny, and why the fuck hadn’t they called? How much longer should he wait before he did anything?  And what the fuck should he do?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

54

Danny

 

            He didn’t think he had totally lost consciousness, or at least, if he had, it had not been for long.  He had maybe dipped in and out for a while as the fists of Jerry Howard rained down on him.  Now he found himself finally in the enviable position of being down on the floor.  They were stood over him, which was a worry, but at least his arms were free now. He wondered how long it would take him to work up the courage to move his hand into his pocket, and if they would notice or not.

            He tried to move, and found the pain excruciating.  It was his ribs.  They were fucked.  His mouth and eye were throbbing and growing fatter by the minute, but it was his ribs that really screamed.  It made him smile though, how he was not afraid anymore.  How could that be?  The pain washed the fear away, and the pain was easier to deal with, it just was what it was.  He remembered a sense of relief sometimes, when Lee had struck him.  He would go into a dark place with the pain, and hide there with it, try to shut out the wild thing delivering it. 

            He moved again, getting his hand out from under his stomach. This is just like before I killed him! He was kicking the shit out of me, but I had to keep trying to get my hand down to my boot, to get the other knife. I got it in the end. So hold on.

            He could smell smoke, cigar smoke.  The three men were stood around him, murmuring.  Finally he heard Jerry tell the other two; “Get yourselves a drink or two boys, I’m gonna’ have a few more words with our little friend here.” The two men walked around him, and from the floor he heard the clink of glasses and the splash of drink.  Moments later, they walked back, Nick Groves actually stepping over him this time. Danny lifted his head just enough to see that they had gone to sit in the corner with their drinks.  He felt a foot nudging his leg.

            “Come on pretty boy, wakey wakey.”

            “I am awake.” Danny rolled slowly onto his back and stared up at the old mans face. 

            “What do you think you’re fucking smiling at?”

            “I didn’t know I was smiling. It’s just a familiar position I find myself in here, that’s all.” Danny used his hands to push himself up from the floor. He could have screamed from the pain in his ribs, but he bit down on it instead, and eased himself carefully into a sitting position, his back against the bar.  He moved his hand towards his pocket, saw Jerry staring at him indignantly, and stopped. “I’ve got the money,” Danny told him then. Jerry’s eyes narrowed in distrust. “I brought a cheque. You can have the lot, you know.  I never wanted it in the first place.”

            Jerry grunted, sucked on his cigar, and glanced around the club. “She never should have given it to you. If she didn’t want it she should have given it back to me, for this place. That’s what he would have wanted.”

            “Fair enough,” Danny agreed, keeping one arm wrapped around his ribs, the other hand planted on the floor, just inches from his coat pocket. “I told you, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want anything from him. It’s in my top pocket here.”

            Jerry took his cigar out of his mouth, knelt down before him, and rummaged around in the top pocket of Danny’s coat.  He found the folded up cheque, took it out, stuck the cigar back between his teeth, and opened it up to examine it.  Danny waited, watching.  He saw the light grow in the old man’s eyes. Jackpot.  He got back up, using the bar to help him and then he nodded down at him. “You’ve got more brains than I gave you credit for, young man. Unless it bounces, of course.”

            “It won’t bounce. And anyway, you know where to find me, right? You know where to find me and all my friends, thanks to Haskell.”

            Jerry tucked the cheque into the top pocket of his shirt and puffed thoughtfully on his cigar, his other hand placed back in his trouser pockets. Giving those hands a little rest, Danny thought, an idea forming in his mind, but it won’t be for long. “She’s been very useful to me over the years,” said Jerry. “Very useful. With all her contacts. She’s a rather shrewd and driven woman, don’t you think?”

            “You could call her that,” Danny nodded at Jerry’s cigar. “You mind if I smoke?” He put his hand in his pocket, pretending to rummage around. Jerry ignored him.

            “Of course that article of hers is utterly one sided. But that doesn’t concern me now. She got what she wanted, and so did I.”

            Danny closed his hand around his phone. He felt the relief swooping over him, making him shudder from head to toe. He closed his eyes briefly, thank fuck, and he ran his thumb over the buttons, trying to work out which one was call.  He found it, pressed it, took another huge breath and pulled his hand back out. “Damn,” he muttered, “must be the other pocket.” He searched that one and found his pack of cigarettes. His hands were shaking badly as he took one out and placed it between his split and bloodied lips, wincing from the pain. Jerry passed him a lighter and he took it without a word, lit the cigarette and passed it back.  The smoke filled his lungs like a delicious dream, spiralling through his body, calming him down.  He had done it. Anthony would be picking up his phone.  Anthony would know what was happening.

            “I’m worried about my friend out there,” he spoke up, trying to make his voice a little louder, without making it obvious. Jerry glared at him. “He hasn’t moved or made a sound.  He could be dead for all you know.  You better check on him.”

            Jerry made a gesture to the men in the corner, and Nick Groves got reluctantly to his feet. “Take a look at the other one,” Jerry grunted at him, and he nodded and headed back out to the hallway.  Danny listened keenly, hoping for a sound from Michael, a groan or a cough, anything.

            “You know you’ve broken so many laws lately, I’ve lost count,” Danny said then, looking back at Jerry. The old man curled his lip.

            “Is that so?”

            “Yeah. Criminal damage, GBH, harassment, not to mention the drug dealing we know about, and what you’ve just done to me and Mike. When’s it gonna’ stop, eh? You don’t want to end up in prison at your age, do you?”

            “You’re a fine one to talk,” Jerry snarled, looking down at him as if he was a piece of crap on his shoe.  “The life you’ve led!”

            “I would have been fine if it wasn’t for your son,” Danny reminded him. Just then Groves stalked back through, rolling his eyes impatiently.

            “He’s fine!” he snapped. “Out for the count but he’s breathing.”

            Jerry trained his dangerous gaze back on Danny. “Don’t you dare try to blame my son for the way your life has turned out, you disgusting little shit!”

            Danny took a deep breath. He needed to get things going again. Get Anthony to move.  “Jerry, is it that you don’t believe all the things he did to me? Or is it that you think they’re all fine?  I just want to know, that’s all.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Him beating me. I was small, you know?  He was fucking huge. Could have killed me any time he pleased. I always thought he would at some point. I used to have nightmares about it. Thought my mum would just come home one day and find me in a pool of blood, you know?”

            Jerry knelt slowly back down before him, sucked hard on his cigar and puffed the smoke right into Danny’s face. “Anything he did to you, was for your own good, you pathetic whining little specimen. I brought him up to be tough.” He pointed his cigar at Danny’s expectant expression. “You should have done as you were told.  You were a child, he was the adult, it’s not hard, is it? You should have behaved yourself, and everything would have been fine, wouldn’t it?  He wanted kids you know.  He wanted to be a father. I think he tried bloody hard to get through to you.”

            Danny felt the hardening inside of him and he welcomed it. He looked at the old mans face, just inches from his, and would have liked to throw his fist right into it.  He grinned slightly, imagining the feel of a heavy blade in his hand.  “Nothing would have been good enough for that bastard.  When I did what he wanted, it was still fucking wrong.  He held my head under water in that very fucking kitchen once, just because the DJ here played a song I had asked for! That’s what he was like! He was irrational, he was obsessive and jealous, and you know what else, he was addicted to violence? No, really he was. He got all edgy and jumpy when he hadn’t punched anyone for a while.  He’d go all calm and weird afterwards. It was his drug!”

            Jerry’s hand shot forward, gripping him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that! He’s in the grave because of you!”

            “I know, and I’m sorry for that, but he pushed me to it, he pushed me to it!” Danny shouted, begging Anthony to hear, to act, to get them the hell out of there.

            “No, no,” Jerry was shaking his head wildly. “You chose to do it, that’s why they locked you up for so long! You didn’t just get in a fight with him and kill him by accident, you planned every part of it! You wrote letters to your friends, you took knives and you went over there with the intention of killing him!”

            “Yes, I did, I did, because I snapped, I broke! I couldn’t take it anymore! I wasn’t thinking straight, I was off my head because of him, he did that to me! Why didn’t he leave me be? Once I’d left, why did he hunt me down like that? What did he tell you about that then eh?”

            Jerry’s hand twisted into his shirt. “He told me he was worried about you. I told him he should forget about you, you weren’t worth it, but he cared about you for some stupid fucking reason! He thought you were with a bad crowd, into drugs, he wanted to bring you home.”

            Danny laughed out loud, he could not help it. “That’s what he told you? That’s fucking brilliant! In with a bad crowd? I was with my friends, my friends who fucking helped me get away from him! I was safe! He should have left me alone! So it’s his fault too that he’s dead!”

            “Don’t you fucking say that!” Jerry pulled him forward. “I’ll fucking annihilate you you little shit! How about another beating eh? This one for Jack?”

            Danny struggled against his hands, holding onto them and trying to push the old man back, while all the time they were being watched by the two men in the corner.  “Jack killed himself because he couldn’t live with the shame anymore!”

            “He was another good man, ruined by you!”

            “No, no, no, no no! He was a fucking dirty paedophile! My friends found out, he got in trouble when he was a copper, that’s why he had to quit! He even messed around with your own son, Dennis! Yeah, I know all about him! Don’t you even care about that?”

            Jerry was silent, his thin lips screwed up so tightly they had all but disappeared into his face. His pale blue eyes raged into Danny’s, and Danny stared back, unsure what he could see there. Anger, hatred, uncertainty.  “Dennis was into guys,” he finally snarled, looking like the words were choking him. “I cast him aside a long time ago, the useless sack of shit.”

            “He wasn’t gay, you stupid old man,” Danny hissed back in disgust, “he was helpless and vulnerable. Lee caught Jack in the act, did you know that? Jack told me himself. Lee caught him messing with Dennis, and instead of knocking him out, or going to you, he lied and told you Dennis was gay. Then he used that power over Jack for years, getting him to do what he wanted because of what he knew.  See you didn’t know your son much at all did you? He stood back and let his friend abuse his own brother!”

            “Fucking shit!” Jerry spat into his face. “None of that is true!”

            “It is true, Jack told me,” Danny argued back. “Lee helped him out every time he got himself in a mess with a boy. He scared off the kid who wanted to press charges against him. Then he called him down here when he couldn’t control me. He put him in that flat, he got him dealing drugs! Did you know that? It wasn’t Jaime Lawler I went to first, it was Jack. He’d give me stuff at his flat. Lee pretended he didn’t know, but he was behind all of it!”

            “Get up!” Jerry roared then, wrenching his cigar from his own mouth and flinging it behind him.  “Get the fuck up now!”

            “You don’t like the truth, do you?” Danny cried, struggling to get to his feet, wrestling with the old mans hands. “He knew about Jack! He knew what he would do! He dealt me drugs and he touched me up every time I passed out! He admitted it to me! It’s the truth!”

            “Lads, I think I’m ready for round two!” Jerry called over his shoulder. The men were quick on their feet, pounding purposefully across the floor towards them. Danny attempted to run, but Nick Groves was too fast, snatching his arms behind his back. He felt his phone slipping from his pocket.

            “You can’t do this!” he cried out, as Jerry pushed his sleeves back up again and took up his stance. “I’ve given you the fucking money! I’ve said I’m sorry!”

            “Not enough,” Jerry came towards him, and shook his head. “Now you stand here and tell vicious lies about my son!”

            “It’s all true, it’s true, I wish I hadn’t killed him, but that’s why I did it!”

            He heard his phone hit the floor. Jerry looked down at it, looked pensive for a moment, and then lifted his foot and stomped on it, sending little pieces of plastic scattering across the floor. He fixed his cold blue eyes on Danny. “He was my son.  I loved that boy. You took his life.  You took him away from me.”

            “And you’ve got what you wanted,” Danny said desperately. “You’ve got the money, you’ve got your apology. I spent eight fucking years in prison!”

            “And now you’re out.  You’re out, you’re alive, you can start again, you can get married, have kids, grow old. You took all that away from Lee. Maybe I ought to take it all away from you.” He came at him, fists raised, like a professional, ducking and skipping, lashing out one fist at a time.  Danny’s arms were pinned behind him by Groves. They were laughing.  He tried to twist away, duck down or to the side, but the blows seemed to find him every time. He got a glimpse of his shattered phone on the floor. Anthony for fucks sake where are you? This is getting worse!

50

Anthony

 

 

            He got the text message from Michael at half past four.  Get away as soon as we can. It’s on for 6pm at the club.  Anthony  answered the text, and then stuffed his mobile phone into his back pocket.  The time worked well for him, he thought.  He was working a double shift, and wasn’t due to clock off until eight. If he feigned illness and got away before six o’clock, then there was a good chance the whole thing would be done and dusted by eight.  He would be able to return home on time.  He was hoping he would never have to lie to his wife again after tonight. 

After making several fake dashes to the toilet, Anthony claimed he had a bad stomach, and was promptly sent home.  No one wanted a chef with a dodgy tummy working in the restaurant.  He changed out of his grease stained work clothes, chucked them in the back of his car, and drove off.  He felt a nervous drumbeat throbbing through his body as he drove towards Redchurch.  It made him lick his lips and grasp the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles ache.

There was a part of him that felt wound up tight, and full of dread as he headed back to that place.  It was the part of him that felt like the scum of the earth for telling his wife so many lies.  It was the part of him that told him he should do as she asked, stay away from trouble, keep his nose out of it all.  But the other part of him was kicking his arse all the way along, again and again, bang, bang, bang, get a move on, get over there, get it started.  It was a part of him he had left behind a long time ago.  Remnants of the troublemaker he had once been.  He smiled recklessly to himself, as he drove back to the familiar territory.  He saw himself as a young teenager, giddy with his own swagger and balls.  He had been full of himself, with every good reason to be.  Michael had grown up with his eyes fixed upwards, emulating his older brother from the petty crimes, to the fights with boys after school. 

He’d thought he was the bees knees, hadn’t he?  Big and strong and handsome. Not afraid of anything or anyone.  The day he had laid his father out on the kitchen floor had been one of the best days of his life.  Michael had been hovering in the background.  No one was ever going to push them around again.  He hadn’t even been that bothered about going to prison the first time.  It had been on the cards for years.  There are only so many times the police and the courts can warn a young man to behave himself.  Maybe there had been a part of him that had wanted to go.  Another string to add to the bad boy bow.

That was the part of him that Chrissie did not know, or understand, Anthony reflected.  She had a distinct habit of talking over him, or changing the subject whenever a slice of the old him appeared in a conversation.  It’s okay, he sometimes wanted to tell her, I don’t want to go back to being that person, not ever, talking about it won’t change me back to him.  He could never quite get it through to her, that he had stopped being that person when he met Danny.  She had an irrational fear and suspicion of a man she had still not even met, and yet Anthony knew that boy had changed him more than anything, or anyone else had.  That she should be thanking him, not fearing him.

I wanted to help him, Anthony thought, swinging his car around the roundabout and following Barrack road, past the police station and the youth club, that’s when I changed. When I wanted to help him. Didn’t want to get in trouble anymore. Wanted to get him out of trouble. 

It had seemed so simple, at first.  Anthony recalled how he had revelled in his position as the older boy the younger ones could turn to.  He had relished the thought of getting his hands on Lee Howard.  That night in the garden, on Danny’s fourteenth, he had sent the boys inside the house and given it to Howard straight.  He had provided his most menacing stare, his blood-thirstiest grin.  With his friends behind him, he had sent that small eyed, thin lipped bastard packing.  Done.  He had clapped his hands, grinned smugly at his friends, looked forward to telling the boys not to worry.  How wrong he had been.

Anthony could still remember the feeling now.  Having the ground ripped out from under his feet.  The confusion.  The hammering at the door, the police swarming in violently, handcuffing him and dragging him outside in just his tracksuit trousers.  Horror and disbelief swamping his mind.  Seeing Michael and Billy skidding to a stop on their bikes outside, as he was shoved into a police car.  He smoked a bit of dope, but he did not deal.  It wasn’t fair.  He was set up.  He was fucked over.  No time to help Danny, or spend time with Mike, it was just all over. Back to prison.  He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Oh those months had dragged in misery.  He had been overwhelmed by his own sense of helplessness and self-pity.  How could he be back in prison again?  How could this happen?  How could he prove it was all wrong?  How could he get back out there and help Danny?  He couldn’t.  The realisation had led him into the first real depression of his entire life.  He couldn’t do anything.  All he could do was serve the time.  Bide his time.  Hope for the best. Grit his teeth.

Anthony approached the roundabout, narrowed his eyes at the desolate nightclub across the road, and turned left, and then left again.  He pulled into the car park of the Conservative club, overlooking the roundabout.  It was almost directly opposite Howler.  It was surrounded by a chain link fence, beyond which a row of neatly maintained conifer hedging further helped disguise his car.  He killed the engine and sat back, closing his eyes briefly, pressing them together and allowing himself a deep, steadying breath. 

Prison had changed him that time.  He had felt it, and he had known it whenever Michael looked into his eyes.  He was just as vulnerable as they were, and they all knew it.  He had been wrong about Lee Howard.  Anthony reached into the back then, retrieving his cigarettes and his mobile phone from the pockets of his chef whites.  He saw that he had missed a call from Lucy, but tucked the phone between his legs, while he lit himself a cigarette.  He smiled to himself wryly.  He had been trying to give up again, but if there was any time that called for a smoke, surely this was it? Into the dragons den, and all that, he mused, picking the phone back up and bringing up Lucy’s number. Before he called her, he gazed back out of the windscreen, at the glimpse of Howler he had through the bushes.  A sadness settled deep within him then, as he tried to imagine all the nights Danny must have spent there, collecting glasses and washing up.  Just a small boy in the palm of monsters.  He recalled the time Danny had shown up with a cut to his forehead, and fresh blood pumping from his nose and mouth, as usual just brushing it off as if it was nothing.  It was the night they had been getting ready to go to Chaos for the first time. He could still see Danny’s face, beaming with excitement, hopping around impatiently, while Anthony kicked the wall and longed to go and beat the shit out of Lee Howard, while at the same time realising that he had to hold back, he had to be smarter than that.

Danny had rolled his eyes, dismissing it, longing to get going, to get to the club that played his music. Anthony had let them go, watched them from the window, Michael with hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched anxiously, while Danny bounded on ahead, laughing and shouting.  He’d watched them go, seething in disgust and rage, balling his hands into fists against the window pane.  What could he do?  He had just got back from prison.  He was terrified of getting sent back.  Howard could do it again, couldn’t he? What could he do?

That night, he had sat watching and listening as they dissected the amazing time they had had, and he could tell by their eyes that they had taken something.  He didn’t say anything until morning, and his fears had intensified overnight.  Smoking weed was one thing, but he didn’t want his little brother taking anything else.  He had felt utterly helpless, like a pointless gaping bystander, just hanging back and watching aghast as the lives of the two people he cared about most were put at risk.  In the end he had pulled Danny to one side and warned him never to give that shit to Michael again.  He hadn’t enjoyed it, first the look of fear that leapt into the boys eyes when he grabbed him, and then the instant flash of hurt, followed by anger and distrust. 

Anthony sighed, and looked away from the club. He tried not to picture who might be in there now, and why.  He rubbed his eyes awake, rolled his window down a little, and tapped his ash outside.  And then there was Michael and Lucy, dragging Danny back from the beach, a total wreck, so fucked and out of it he could barely stand.  Anthony recalled his dismay, his frustration, how could this be happening?  He’d thought again, what could he do?  Confront Howard again?  Go to the police?  Talk Danny into telling the police?  He even considered going to the boys mother.  It was only when Danny coughed up the name of his drug dealer, that Anthony started to form a loose plan in his mind. It had spiralled from there. 

He knew the Lawlers.  He could find Jaime and talk to him.  It was a start.  Yeah, he thought now, his finger still hovering over the call button to Lucy, it had been a start, the start of getting us all in even deeper. I should have gone to the fucking police.  I would have…but I was scared of going back to jail… He supposed he felt a lot like Danny did about it these days.  If he could go back and face himself at that age, he would shake himself by the shoulders, tell him to do the right thing.  Get the police involved, the social services, anything. Get Danny away from those men, and get those men locked up.  It didn’t seem like it was possible at the time.

He sighed, shook his head and pressed call.  Lucy answered almost instantly, as if she had been holding the phone right next to her ear.  “Anthony?” She sounded scared, he thought, and he didn’t blame her. “What’s going on?  The other two won’t answer their phones!”

“It’s okay, I just heard from Mike,” he told her gently. “He’s low on credit, so doesn’t want to use any up unless he has to.  Think Danny has his turned off for the moment.  He had a run in with that Haskell woman earlier, and she keeps phoning him.”

“Oh?  Why?  What happened?”

“She’s been involved from the start, didn’t Danny tell you yet?”

“Involved?  With what?  No, he didn’t!” Lucy sounded perilously close to tears, Anthony thought grimly.

“We only found out when I got hold of Jaime Lawler. He works for Howard too. Drug dealing again.  He told us Haskell has been on Howard’s side the whole time, letting him know where we all live and that. Probably posted some of those letters herself, who knows?”

“Bloody hell Anthony!” Lucy cried down the phone. 

“I know, I know.  Look, we’ll have to explain it all properly to you later darling. I’m parked opposite Howler at the moment.”

“What are you all going to do?”

“Hopefully nothing,” he told her honestly. “I’m just sat out here in case they need me.  Hopefully it will just be a chat, Lucy. They’ll just try and sort it all out.”

“But you can’t trust men like that!” she hissed desperately down the phone at him. 

“It’s alright” he tried to tell her.  “We have a plan.  It’s all sorted.  We’ll be okay Lucy, I promise you.”

“You can’t promise me that,” she replied tightly.  “None of you can. This is just like before, you three taking things into your own hands. It will all blow up in your faces if you’re not careful! Why don’t you just tell the police?”

“It’s not that simple Luce. Danny needs to speak to Howard.  He needs to put it behind him, and this will be the way.  He’s not going in alone.  Mike’s going in too, whether they like it or not.  I’m watching Lucy. I’ll call the cops the first sign of trouble I see, I promise.”

“I don’t want him to end up back in jail again.” Her voice was tiny now, cloaked in tears. “Like last time Anthony. What if it happens again?”

“No weapons,” Anthony assured her uselessly. “It won’t be like that. I promise.  It’s different.”

“I hope so,” Lucy told him and hung up the phone.  Anthony closed his eyes briefly, awash with fresh guilt.  Then he scrolled down the contacts on his phone.  He had added the number for the police station just minutes down the road.  In case we need it.  He glanced at the time.  Ten minutes to six.  He wrote a text to Michael and sent it; I’m here. Place looks dead from out here. Your end?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

51

Michael

 

We’re in the alley. Couple of cars parked close. Must be them. We’ll go in dead on 6. Michael hit send, then threw his head back against the head rest in his car, pushing a nervous hand stiffly through his hair.  “How you feeling?” he asked, with his eyes closed.  He heard Danny shifting on the passenger seat, and clearing his throat.

“Like something crawled into my stomach and died there.”

Michael laughed, opened his eyes and looked at him. “Yeah, you look kind of like that too!”

“Shut up.  Look at you.  I saw your hand shaking on the steering wheel on the drive over!”

Michael leaned towards him digging him in the side with an elbow.  Danny shoved him back, punched him in the arm.  There was a smattering of gentle, nervous laughter, and then they both fell silent again.  Michael checked the time on his phone.  Five minutes to go. 

“Feel a bit naked,” Danny croaked next to him.  He coughed, clearing his throat again, and drummed his fingers against the dashboard as he gazed out and up at the building to their left.  “Without a shit load of knives on me, I mean.” He looked at Michael again, a grin on his face, dread in his eyes.  Michael nodded sombrely.

“We’ve got Anthony.”

“I have a feeling I sense some pain heading my way,” Danny said, still grinning. Michael grunted.  He did not even want to think about it.

“You better turn your phone back on,” he said. “Get Anthony’s number up ready.”

Danny pulled out his phone, and Michael watched him pressing the buttons, and trying not to let the shake in his hand show too much.  He didn’t blame him one little bit.  He felt sick to his stomach with fear, and he didn’t have as many reasons as Danny did to be afraid.  But this was where it would all end, wasn’t it?  He had not yet grown tired of repeating this assurance inside his mind. It would all end here tonight, because Danny would talk to Jerry Howard.  Something would happen.  Michael still had no idea if Danny planned to agree to any of the old man’s terms, but he guessed it was better that way.  His job was just to be there. 

“Another four missed calls from Haskell,” Danny remarked beside him. Michael shook his head in disgust.

“Unbelievable. Why doesn’t she just crawl off and die?  I still can’t believe that hard nosed bitch.”

“What about what she said?” Danny looked at him, biting his lower lip.

“I wouldn’t believe a word that woman said, Danny. Not a word.  And even if it is true, if her mums’ fella’ abused her or whatever, why the fuck would that make her do what she did?” He lifted his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Why? I mean, if it’s true, then she should know how it feels, she shouldn’t be helping people like them!”

“She wanted to kill him, she said,” Danny replied, gazing down at the phone that lay in the palm of his hand. “She never had the guts.”

“So what?  Who cares?  Fuck her.  She screwed you over big time, mate, don’t forget that. We wouldn’t even need to be doing this if she hadn’t been helping that fucker in there, would we?”

He watched Danny consider it.  He felt the urge to roll down the window and spit out of it.  Just the sound of that woman’s name on his tongue made him feel queasy and on edge.  He had seen her on the pavement, clinging to Danny, whining and wailing.  What a performance! Michael did not buy a word of it.  “Don’t you go feeling sorry for her,” he warned Danny then, who looked back at him quickly with a frown. “I mean it mate.  I know what you’re like.  You’re already making up excuses for her in your head, aren’t you?”

“No, course not.”

“Yes you are. You’ve got that look in your eye. You feel sorry for her.”

“I do, in a way.”

“You don’t even know if it’s true,” Michael protested, twisting in the driver seat to face him properly. “It’s probably all bullshit about this man abusing her. Just another way for her to stick the knife in! She’s sick, that’s all it is Dan, she is sick. She just wanted a good juicy story, and she got that in the end didn’t she?”

“It would explain it, that’s all,” Danny shrugged, and looked back out of the window, closing his hand over his phone.  “Why she was so obsessed for years.”

“Whatever, just don’t you go feeling sorry for her, and when this is all over, don’t you bloody go anywhere near her. She’s poison.”

“I might not even be around here anyway,” came the distant reply.

“What are you saying?  What does that mean?” Michael asked him sharply.

“Got to think what to do for the best. For everyone.”

“You’re not gonna’ fucking let them chase you away.” Michael patted his arm, forcing him to turn to look at him. “Do you know, between us, Lawler and Haskell we have enough to go to the police? We could get Howard sent down. That’s what we need to focus on when tonight is over, depending on how it goes. We haven’t done anything wrong remember? We haven’t broken any laws.  They fucking have.”

“I know, I know.”

“Well then, don’t let me hear you talk like that. We don’t want scum like them winning Danny. We don’t want scum like them running the place!”

“Michael, it’s six o clock.”

“What?” Michael looked at his own phone.  He felt his stomach fall to his feet. “Oh fuck.”

He looked up, caught a glimpse of the abject misery on his friends face, and then watched him take a huge breath, before reaching for the handle and opening the car door. Michael opened his side, got out and closed the door quietly.  They both looked up at the building.  It had been painted a startling white out the front, with a neon blue sign that flashed on and off in the dark, Howler, but out the back it was the same drabby grey it had been back then. 

Michael came around to stand by Danny. He wanted to say something, but all he could think of was good luck, and that sounded terrible.  So he nudged him instead, and nodded at his phone.  Danny showed him that he had Anthony’s number up. Michael nodded, swallowing the hard lump that had formed in his throat. “Press call as soon as we see anyone,” he whispered, and then wondered why he was whispering, and why the hell he suddenly felt about fourteen years old again.

Danny nodded, placed the phone in his pocket and approached the back door.  There were three dirty steps. He stepped onto one, then reached out and pressed the buzzer to the right side of the door. His eyes flicked nervously back to Michael. Michael waited, one step behind him, not breathing.

He expected the buzzer to return with a voice, or a buzzing noise, but that did not happen.  Instead, they heard several locks being turned, or drawn back. They swapped looks again.  Michael shifted from one foot to the other, feeling the air leak out of his lungs. He told himself to snap out of it.  This was an old man they were dealing with. Lee Howard and Jack Freeman were dead and in the ground. But it was not the old man who answered the door.  It was the wide staring face of the man they now knew to be Nick Groves.

The man was taller than them by a good few inches, built like a wrestler, and with the steps between them, Michael suddenly felt even smaller and younger than he had before.  Nick Groves was dressed in a snappy grey suit, and he greeted them with a sneering smile that stretched out and up towards his small round ears.  His shaven head was huge and round, and reminded Michael of a bowling ball, gleaming upon his wide, square shoulders. “Evening lads,” came the gruff, yet pleasant greeting.  He sounded amused, Michael thought, staring at him.  Like he knew he was in for a fun night.  He held the door open for them, and Danny looked at him once, then made it up the steps, squeezing past Nick Groves into the dark and narrow hallway that was beyond.  Michael followed quickly, not wanting to lose him, afraid that the door would be slammed in his face.

But Nick Groves let him through, and Michael squeezed past the big man’s chest, as Danny had before him. Nick Groves slammed the door behind him, clapped his hands in delight, and when Michael turned to look at him, all he could see was that huge shining head rushing violently towards his, the man’s eyes sparkling with hunger.  Michael did not even have time to remove his hands from his pockets.  The head smashed into his, darkness exploded, and as he went down he fought to say the words, to urge Danny to act, press call Danny! Press call! Call!