Ray Banks: Saturday's child

Too much to think about right now. I check my mobile for messages. There’s a half-dozen from Mo. He’s staying at the airport Travelodge, wants me to call him as soon as, or else. A message from Morris, basically the same thing. Where the fuck am I?

I’m right here, boys. No need to get shitty with me.

So what now? Time’s running out. Soon it won’t be just Rob Stokes Mo’s after, it’ll be me. And why would that be?

Because he wants to hand over some personal justice for the guy nicking his girl and me, I’m the guy his dad said would be able to find Stokes. Even though Mo probably wanted the job himself, which would explain a lot.

I look in the car and George seems to have fallen asleep. A loud, rattling snore fills the Micra with noise, drowns out the radio. I prod his leg hard. He snaps awake, yelling.

‘Stokes has a mobile,’ I say.

‘Fuck’re you talking about?’ George blinks rapidly, his eyes narrowed against daylight.

‘Stokes has a mobile, right? Give me the number.’

‘He doesn’t have a mobile.’

“I don’t have time to fuck about, George. Stokes has a mobile, you have a mobile, we’ve all got fuckin’ mobiles. You want the truth, I’m going to help him out.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Fuck off? That’s nice, but if I don’t call him, he’s dead.’

George looks at me, wipes some crust from his eye. He’s still not convinced.

‘I’m not lying to you, George.’

His jaw pulses, then he shuffles in the seat so he can reach inside his jacket. ‘If you’re fucking about ‘

Then I already know you can contact him, don’t I? And if that’s the case, I can use the bat if you don’t fork out the number.’

He pales. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Give me the number and we’ll see.’

George pauses, then pulls out his mobile phone. I snatch it off him and slam the car door shut. I lean against the window so he can’t see what I’m doing. Scrolling through his contact list, I notice there’s only one ROB.

This idea taking root, it’s probably daft. But the way I see it, I haven’t got many cards left to play, and this might just get me out of feeling guilty. It might go some way to making a bad situation better, or it could make it a hell of a lot worse. But it’s about the only thing I can do right now that makes sense.

I call Stokes. He’s kept his mobile switched on, because it hasn’t gone straight through to voicemail. Which means he’s either too lazy to switch it off, or he’s waiting on a call. When he picks up, he speaks with a voice full of early morning phlegm.

‘Rob, it’s Cal Innes.’

‘How’d you get this number?’ Sounding more awake by the second. Fear, otherwise known as the body’s own caffeine.

“I want to make you a deal,’ I say.

Who’d you get this number off?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Is Alison there?’

There’s a pause, as if he’s thinking. Then: ‘No, she’s not.’

‘Then we can talk.’

‘Fuck do I want to talk to you about?’

“I have a proposition for you.’

‘Fuck your proposition.’

‘I’m outside, Rob.’

‘The fuck you are,’ he says.

‘You’re a grumpy bastard in the mornings, aren’t you?

Look, my deal is you keep the money you stole ‘

“I didn’t steal ‘

‘Listen to me. You keep the money you took, you keep the lot.

But you get out of Newcastle right now. Go somewhere nobody knows you. Change your name, do whatever it takes. Don’t fuck it up like you did the last time. Stay out of the casinos, stay out of the bookies, curb that particular enthusiasm, you get me?’

Stokes grunts. If he was here, I’d slap some sense into him.

Anger management might as well bite me. It went out the window the day I started this job, and I’ve been growing angrier by the second. Funny how easy it is to fall into the old ways given half a chance.

‘Don’t piss about, Rob. I’m offering you a way out here. All you need to do is keep your trap shut and get out of town.

And you need to tell me where Alison is.’

‘Alison?’

‘That’s right. She’s going home. That’s all they wanted. And if it wasn’t, then it’s what they’re going to have make do with.’

Stokes starts to stammer. ‘Wait a second.’

‘No waiting. The offer stands for the next ten seconds. After that, I collar your man George here and I go to work on his fuckin’ arms. Then I’ll call Mo and tell him where to find you.’

‘Hold on, George is there?’

‘Kind of. And you’re running out of time.’

‘Look, can we meet up and talk about this?’

“I already fell for that one.’

Stokes sighs into the phone; it rasps in my ear.

‘Use your brain, mate,’ I say.

Another sigh. Then he starts talking. He gives me an address, rattles it out and it’s not far from here. I disconnect, open the car door and chuck George’s mobile back at him as I get in. He catches the phone. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You’re going to the hospital, George.’

‘What about Rob?’

‘He’s not as stupid as he looks.’

‘If we’d stayed at the airport, we’d be fuckin’ comfortable at least,’ said Baz.

‘Shut up,’ I said. Me mobile started ringing. I didn’t know the number. It weren’t Innes, and I’d been trying to call the fuck all night. But nah, he had it on voicemail. Which meant he were up to no bloody good.

‘He’s right, Mo. Let’s just call it a fuckin’ day, alright?’

‘What’d I tell you?’ I answered me mobile. ‘Fuck’s this?’

‘Mo,’ she said.

Well, look who it weren’t.

Baz started saying summat again, but I knocked him in the mouth so he kept quiet. Instead, he sat there holding his gob and glaring at us.

‘Y’alright, Sis?’ I said.

‘No. No, I’m not.’ She started on with the heavy breathing.

Crying, but trying to keep it quiet, like. “I can’t do this, Mo. I can’t do this anymore.’

‘Tell us where you are,’ I said.

‘He’s sneaking about. I think he’s gonna grass me up.’

‘We’ll sort that out.’

‘Mo, I’m scared.’

You fuckin’ should be, I wanted to say. But I said, ‘Tell us where you are.’

‘No,’ she said. “I can’t. You ‘

We’ll find you anyway, Alison. You might as well make this easier on yourself.’

“I don’t want you to hurt Rob.’

“I promise, I won’t hurt him.’

‘I can’t go back, Mo.’

‘You’ll come back with me. It’ll be alright, Sis. I promise.’

There were silence at the other end. Then she said, ‘There’s still some money.’

‘Good.’

‘We could maybe use it.’

‘Maybe.’ Like fuck. Think I’d mess around with you again, Sis? You’re out your fuckin’ gourd, love. Give us your address and we’ll come round.’

‘We?’

“I got Rossie and Baz with us. We been looking for you.’

‘He already called you, then,’ she said. “I knew he would.

He’s a fuckin’ liar. Rob’s been talking to him. I’m sure it’s him. Rob hasn’t been talking to you, has he?’

‘Nah. I don’t know the lad.’

‘What about Dad?’ she said.

‘He misses you. He wants you to come home.’

‘I’ll give him a ring.’

‘Nah, that’s alright. You just hang tight and tell us where you are, and we’ll come over and you can ring Dad from the road, okay?’

She didn’t say nowt for a bit. Then she whispered the address to us over the phone. And I felt like I’d just cleared me bowels after a year of constipation.

‘Stay where you are, Sis. We’ll be right round.’

I hung up, lit a ciggie and fuckin’ savoured that first drag.