Tony Black - Gutted

The pug holding me suddenly became confused and let his grip slip. He freed me so he could go to the door and call for back-up.

McAvoy hit his stride. He had Jonny by the throat, strangling him on the floor. ‘You thought fifty Gs was too big a fucking payday to pass up so you stiffed me and took it for yourself!’

Jonny’s face was reddening. His arms flapped wildly at his sides as he tried to get a hold of McAvoy, but he had no chance. McAvoy was going like ten men, ready to kill. ‘I’ll fucking do you worse than you ever dreamed of doing me.’

I was ready to take a seat and wait for McAvoy to finish him as a dozen or so uniforms piled in and dragged the pair apart. The door was left open and I contemplated slipping out while the going was good but as I edged closer I was rumbled.

‘Sit the fuck down, you’re going nowhere,’ yelled a uniform.

I did as I was told. The frantic mass left.

The interview room seemed much quieter.

I was alone again.

They gave me a few more hours to sweat. I imagined rows of drink, strung the length of a bar, singing to me. Bottles, barrels, warehouses wouldn’t be enough. I pined for the oblivion it brought.

I imagined myself walking into the rain, rattling from bar to bar. I didn’t even bother to shield myself from it. I wanted to be soaked, wet through. As I paced, my imagination fed hallucinations. There were people all around me, scurrying on either side, but none could touch me. Where I was, there was room for only one. Did I face a life of pacing like this? Pacing an empty flat, listening to music, alone. Fearing the future, alone. Eating frozen dinners, carry-outs, alone. And the worst: watching television, seeing people enjoying themselves before your very eyes, taunting you. Christ, comedies, on television, how could I watch them? To watch a comedy, laugh, escape yourself and then hear the sound of your own laughter and know there was no one there to share in it. Would there ever be?

A key turned in the door.

Pug yelled, ‘Get out.’

‘That it?’

Fat fingers grabbed my shirt, a yank. ‘Move yer fucking arse.’

In the corridor I caught sight of a familiar face shaking hands with Fitz the Crime. Judge Crawford had his hand on his son’s shoulder as he led him from the interview room. The boy looked fraught, on edge. I knew Fitz would have another collar to his credit soon enough, maybe more than one.

I muttered under breath, ‘Nice one.’

I felt a prod in my back.

‘C’mon, move it.’

I turned to face the pug. As he shoved me towards the desk sergeant I managed to straighten my shoulders. As I progressed along the corridor, I came face to face with the judge and his son. The boy’s head was bowed, facing the floor. For a second his father didn’t register my face. When he did, he followed his son, dropped his eyes.

I tutted, shook my head, leaned into Fitz’s lapels, said, ‘Kids today…’

Fitz glowered at the pug, yelled, ‘Get him the hell out of my sight!’

I didn’t recognise the plod on the desk. He handed me my shoelaces, belt, lighter and wallet. Said, ‘That you off to get blootered?’

I frowned. ‘What is it with you lot — is that line in the manual?’

Outside a force-ten was blowing. Rain battering the plastic roof of the entrance. I turned up my collar, lit a tab.

As I started to walk, I caught sight of Debs hunkering down in the driver’s seat of a brand-new Audi. She’d spotted me, I could tell, but she didn’t know how to react. What the hell was she doing here?

I crossed the street, tapped on the door.

She lowered the window.

‘Debs, you’re here?’

She seemed agitated, looking round me. ‘I, well…’

‘Tell me you’re not… Whose car is this?’

She sighed, twice, then, ‘It’s Jonny’s — he only just bought it.’

‘Och, for fucksake, Debs…’

She turned in the seat. The rain was blowing in; she had to shield her eyes from it. ‘Gus, it’s not what you think.’

‘How have you fucking bought into this guy?’ I threw down my cigarette. ‘Deborah, I credited you with more sense.’

She shook her head, took the key from the ignition, opened the car door and stepped out. ‘Gus, I’ve been waiting here for hours.’

‘Don’t waste your time, Jonny Boy’s had his collar felt.’

Debs looked confused. ‘You don’t know, do you, Gus?’

‘Know what?’

She smacked her hand off the door. ‘Gus, I–I…’

‘What is it, Debs, you’re having a jailhouse wedding?’

She fired up, ‘Fucking shut it and listen… I shopped him.’

I stared right at her. ‘You what?’

Debs poked me in the chest with the car key, yelled, ‘You know, Gus, it’s not all about you and your childish fucking one-upmanship. I did the right thing for once in my life. I found the money, Gus. Jonny had a carrier bag full of used tenners stuffed away in the back of the wardrobe…’

I kicked a car tyre. ‘It was you… all the Complaints stuff in there was down to you?’

She calmed, nodded. ‘I called Fitz.’

I looked back at the station.

I knew I should be smiling, laughing, but I felt a cloud of Presbyterian gloom rising. I heard the old predestined apophthegm — ‘Man plans, God laughs’. Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I watched Debs, I felt sure she’d only one reason for doing this, but I needed to ask her: ‘Why?’

The rain and the wind lashed us as she spoke; the gale was getting worse. ‘For you.’

I put my arms around her. She smiled, nuzzled into me. I felt the car key press into my chest again. I took it from her. ‘You won’t be needing this.’ I ran the key along the side of Jonny’s new car, then I dropped it into a drain.

‘Gus, that’s shitty.’

‘I know.’

She laughed and we set off into the rain, together.

By the time we got back to the Wall we’d been drenched, sodden as dock rats. But somehow it didn’t seem to matter to either of us.

Mac had Usual resting on top of a bar stool. The dog launched himself at me as I appeared.

‘Down, boy. Down.’

‘Someone’s glad to see you.’

I took off my jacket, took up a bar towel to dry my hair, handed one to Debs.

I pointed to the Guinness tap. Mac got the message, started to pour. My mobi was dead, needed charged. I plugged it in and sat at the bar. Usual came and scratched at my legs.

‘Down, boy. Later, I promise, we’ll go to the park.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Mac.

‘Say what?’

‘That word.’ He spelled it out slowly: ‘P-a-r-k… He knows it now. Smart animals, dogs, picking up stuff all the time. Like children.’

I saw Debs look at me. She grabbed my hand, squeezed.

I ruffled Usual’s ears, patted him on the head. As I did so I felt a coldness suddenly come over me, like when people say the old phrase Someone just walked over your grave.

Mac placed my pint before me, then nodded to the rear of the bar. I turned and saw Katrina Crawford stood behind me, looking like a woman who had recently collapsed in shock. She had holes in her stockings, both knees scraped. Black mascara ran beneath the eyes.

I stood up. Words wouldn’t come.

Katrina Crawford pointed a broken fingernail at me. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done…’

Debs stood up, said, ‘Who’s this?’

I waved her away. ‘It’s okay. Katrina, would you like to sit down?’ I walked over to her. Her eyes were distant, a faraway glaze on them. ‘Come on, let’s sit in the snug.’ The poor woman was in bits. I felt a heart scald to think of what she’d been through already with little Chrissy, and now her only son would be locked up. I called out to Mac, ‘Bring her a brandy.’