Ken McClure - Trauma

McKirrop swung his arms across his chest as he paced up and down on the towpath on a repetitive ten metre patrol. Ostensibly he was keeping warm — he kept remarking to Bella how cold it was — but nerves were playing a large part in his discomfort, not to mention the fact that they were both desperate for a drink.

“For God’s sake, stand still!” snapped Bella.

McKirrop swung his arms all the harder and complained, “Where the hell is he?”

“We’ve only been here five minutes!” retorted Bella.

“Seems like bloody hours.”

Bella watched the pacing figure in the gloom and began to grow suspicious. “Why are you so edgy?” she demanded. “What are you really up to?”

“I told you,” replied McKirrop. “The bugger owes me money. Fifty quid.”

“So what’s there to be nervous about?”

“I’m just cold damn it! Now give it a rest.”

“Twenty quid for me, right?”

“Right. We agreed all that,” snapped McKirrop. “What are you going on about? We’re a team aren’t we?”

“That’s right, John boy,” said Bella. “But if you’re holding out on me...”

“Nobody’s holding out on you for Christ’s sake! Where the hell is he?” McKirrop started pacing again but turned smartly when a voice from up on the bridge said, “McKirrop?”

McKirrop looked up and saw the dark silhouette above the parapet. His throat tightened. “Have you got my money?” he croaked.

“All in good time. Did you bring the card?”

“In my pocket.”

“Bring it up.”

“You come down.”

“What’s all this about a card?” demanded Bella from the shadow of the wall beneath the parapet.

“He just dropped his library card, that’s all,” said McKirrop dismissively, annoyed that Bella had opted for a speaking role.

“Who’s down there with you, McKirrop?” asked the voice from above.

“Just my friend Bella, come to see fair play,” replied McKirrop. “She’s here to see that you give me my money.”

“I’m a witness,” crowed Bella. “Give him the money you owe him.” McKirrop wished that Bella would just keep her mouth shut.

“I’m coming down,” said Sotillo.

McKirrop could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He was only a few seconds away from getting his hands on five thousand pounds. Five thousand pounds! He could hear the scrabble of Sotillo’s feet on the steep earth path that led down to the towpath, the sound of a man bringing him five thousand pounds. McKirrop desperately wanted to urinate. He pressed his hands into his crotch from inside the pockets of his great-coat and shrugged his shoulders up round his ears. He took a step backwards to allow Sotillo to descend the last few metres in a sideways crab-like run forced on him by the steepness of the path.

“Where’s the card?” asked Sotillo, straightening up.

McKirrop couldn’t make out Sotillo’s features in the darkness but was aware that Sotillo had the same problem. He figured that he had got the best of that bargain because, while Sotillo sounded as unruffled and urbane as usual, his own cheek muscles were twitching as if electrodes had been inserted in his face. his throat was as dry as the desert. “Where’s the money?” he croaked.

Sotillo’s hand came out of his overcoat pocket. There was enough light to pick out the white envelope he held in it. “Here.”

McKirrop snatched at it with his left hand and brought out the library card with his right.

“Here’s your card.”

Sotillo took it and McKirrop ripped the envelope open to feel what was inside, rather than look at it. There was no mistaking the feel of bank notes. A thick bundle of notes.

“Did you get it?” asked Bella from the shadows.

McKirrop had almost forgotten about her. Confidence was flooding through him like a cocaine rush. “I got it,” he replied, his voice no longer a croak from a fear-tightened throat. “Nice doing business with you,” he said to Sotillo. “Maybe we’ll do it again some time.”

“I was afraid you might think that,” said Sotillo. He said it slowly and sonorously as if he had been expecting the worst and it had just happened. “No,” he said. “Our business as you term it will come to an end here and now.”

“As you say, squire,” said McKirrop but there was something about Sotillo’s voice that threatened the reliability of his anal sphincter. All his new found cockiness evaporated in an instant and he found himself wishing that he had not made any reference to future ‘business’. “Just a joke.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Bella, sensing that all was not well. “You’ve got your money. Let’s get a drink.”

Bella tugged at McKirrop’s arm as she turned to start out along the towpath but suddenly the tugging stopped and McKirrop heard her exclaim, “Who the hell are you? What’s your game?” He spun round to see two large figures loom up out of the darkness. They were blocking the path behind them.

“What are you trying to pull, Sotillo?” demanded McKirrop with more courage than he felt.

“Give me back my money.”

There was an electric pause before Bella said, “Give him it for Christ’s sake. We don’t need all this shit for fifty lousy quid.”

“Fifty pounds? Is that what he told you,” sneered Sotillo. “Perhaps your... colleague, hasn’t been quite honest with you.”

Bella turned on McKirrop. “You bastard! I knew you were up to something. A team, you said. We were a team! I’m going to get Flynn to kick your fucking head in! How much?” she yelled. “How fucking much?” She flew at McKirrop.

The two figures moved in to separate Bella and McKirrop who were spitting venom at each other.

“When thieves fall out, there’s no telling what can happen,” said Sotillo to the two silent figures who were now holding Bella and McKirrop. “I think under the circumstances, gentlemen, they should perhaps do each other some serious and lasting damage.”

Lafferty had been down to the canal earlier to begin his search for the man he now knew to be John McKirrop. He hadn’t remembered the name himself but one of the two down-and-outs he found by the canal had given him this information and told him that McKirrop would probably be down later. The two of them had seemed pleased to help and almost were in competition to tell him everything they knew about McKirrop

“A brave man,” said one. “You know he tried to stop these bastards from digging the kid up at the cemetery?”

“So I understand.”

“Should be given some kind of medal, I reckon.”

The other drunk nodded sagely. “Or at least some kind of compensation for the injuries he suffered.”

“Injuries?”

“They beat him up.”

“Beat him within an inch of his life,” added the other.

“I hadn’t realised,” confessed Lafferty.

“Well, nobody gives a damn for the likes of us, Father. Begging your pardon, like.”

“God does,” replied Lafferty. “Never forget that.”

“Yes, Father,” replied the drunk, obviously unconvinced.

“You will tell John that I’d appreciate a word with him later if he should show up?”

“Of course, Father.”

Lafferty could make out six figures as he descended from the bridge to the towpath. As he got closer he saw that the nearest man was either asleep or unconscious on the fringe of the group. He lay sprawled over the path with his head at a slightly raised angle where it rested on what looked like a railway sleeper. An empty bottle was still clutched in his hand. Lafferty stepped over him gingerly. “Is he all right?” he asked the anonymous group in front of him.

“Who wants to know?” snarled a voice from the darkness.

“I’m Father Lafferty from St Xavier’s. I was down earlier looking for John McKirrop. Is he one of you?”