Кен Бруен - A Fifth of Bruen - Early Fiction of Ken Bruen

On the other side of London, a little girl tossed and turned in her sleep. Her mother stood in the doorway, dragged viciously on a cigarette and thought evil and brutal thoughts.

The smoke hung above her head like a shroud of morning mist. An angle of the darkness was like an omen of destruction.

Come morning, Tom moved from the chair and did an inventory.

“What have I got Rusty, eh well lets see

   1. An attitude.

   2. A broken cross.

   3. Nearly a beard.

And I’ve got you Rusty, that’s good, that’s really good, so how about I feed you.

As he watched the dog eat, for reasons linked to things he couldn’t articulate, he quoted a line from a book by a young Indian writer, Ferdie Kanga,

“In Bombay there lives a rumour that walks in disguise as a fact.”

Terry and Bill were in the breakage business. Human breakage. They were known as “the bone breakers”. Both in their late 40s, they could pass for twins. Describe one, you described both.

   Potbellied

   Balding

   Medium height

   Merry twinkling eyes

   Broken noses

   Cockney accents.

They weren’t cockneys. From Romford they’d gravitated to the East end and adopted the usual history. Like so many minor villains, they claimed to have known the Krays. It was a mandatory requirement.

“Yea, sure, knew ole Reg, salt of the earth, loved his old Mum he did.”

In the “Rent-a-Hug” industry, they were prominent. Recently, they’d hired out to the drug market and come in contact with Robert Colbert.

They were having a drink with him in a quiet pub in Docklands. Robert’s nose was nearly permanently running. A tell tale sign of the chronic coke abuser. He swiped at it and said,

“Can’t seem to shake this cold.”

The boys exchanged looks, Terry said,

“Oughta get yerself some of them lemsips, son, they’ll see you right, watcher think Bill, them lemsips help him?”

“Oh yea, be right as rain tomorrow, me old Dad swears by ’em.”

Robert ordered a fresh round of drinks and said,

“I’m putting the finishing touches to a deal and if it comes through, there’ll be plenty of gravy in it for you boys.”

“Gravy...” said Terry.

“Thing is, I’ve got a slight problem. My missus, she’s threatening her... her ex-husband on me.”

“Big bloke is he?”

“Ard he is.”

“Oh he thinks he’s tough just because he’s been inside.”

“Well Mr. C, how about if Bill and I go round and have a bit of a chin wag with him, how would that be?”

“Yea, Mr C... give him a word to the wise.”

Robert beamed, took out an envelope and laid it on the table. He said,

“Capital, it just so happens I have his place of residence at hand and a little something for you boys. A drink in it for you.”

Terry took the envelope, looked inside, looked at Bill, raised one eyebrow. He said,

“Very generous Mr C, very white of you. We’ll drop round on (he looked in the envelope again)... young Tom this very afternoon. You’ve nowt planned, Bill do you... free are you?”

Bill gave a huge smile.

“No Terry, all free this after as it happens.”

A worried look crossed Robert’s face.

“Am... nothing too physical boys, just so as he gets message.”

“No need to fret Mr C, we’ll just have a bit of a chin wag, have a nice cup of tea ’n’ all. Eh Bill, wotcher think.”

“Yea, a nice cup of tea... maybe a couple of biccies eh.”

Robert drained his drink, sniffed and got up to leave.

“I can expect a progress report then.”

“Yea.”

After he left, one or both said, “Wanker.”

Robbie rang the Korean and hyped on Coke, he felt he had the deal almost clinched. A few more weeks and he’d kiss them all goodbye. He was fuelling the coke with chain cups of hot black espresso. The adrenalin suggested he ring Liz, his estranged wife. She answered on the first ring.

“Liz, listen sweetheart, just to let you know the cheque is in the mail (he thought, and pigs might friggin’ fly).”

“It better be.”

“Now now darlin, that sounds suspiciously like a threat.”

“You can bank on it, you won’t like Tom, oh no... you won’t like Tom at all.”

“What? The convict, oh honeybunch, I don’t think we need worry about him. Some colleagues of mine are due to have a little chat with our boy.”

“Those cockney cowboys, the two fat assholes you hang out with. He’ll eat them for breakfast.”

“We’ll see, shall we sweetheart... how is Kendra?”

The phone slammed down.

Robbie smiled and said,

“And nice talking to you.”

He felt his time had come. All the loose strands were about to be nailed down. A little celebration was in order.

Robbie opened his top drawer and took out a walkman. Ran his fingers through the cassettes and selected Neil Young. A gun catalogue lay under the tapes. He loaded up Neil Young, turned the volume to maximum and began to look through the catalogue.

The coke in tandem with the music nearly lifted him out of his seat. He could feel the beat to the core of his soul and stabbed at the air with his right fist.

“Ale-rite real fuckin A! Jeez, those old hippies got it right.”

Harvest Moon.

Right... yea.

The first gun in the catalogue, a.38 Arminius Titan Revolver attracted him instantly. Next up, a Colt Python got equal attention, he flipped back to see who supplied these babies. An address in Waco, Texas. The irony went right over his head.

Mrs. Dalton’s face suddenly appeared at desk level. Arms waving to get his attention. He reluctantly removed the earphones.

“Better be good Dalton, I’m very busy here, this is a top priority tape here.”

“Really Mr. Colbert, could you try lowering your voice. You could be heard down the street with your roaring... what on earth is a harvest moon?”

“Don’t get shitty with me Dalton. Remember who pays the wages.”

“Actually Mr. Colbert you haven’t paid me...”

“Can it Dalton, was there something of special urgency?”

A man appeared behind her, dressed in a dark suit and carrying a briefcase.

“This gentleman insisted on seeing you. I said you were busy but alas he could hear your... singing.”

Robbie stood up, all business now.

“Off you go Dalton, I’ll handle this... and you are, sir?”

“Naylor... I’m the bailiff.”

Robbie momentarily lost it then rallied.

“All the more easy for you to nail ’em eh?”

“Very humorous I’m sure Mr. Colbert, first time I ever heard that little pun. Very first time. You’ve landed yourself in some serious financial waters.”

“Which I’m just about to solve... no worries, everyone gets paid.”

“And when might we expect this joyous event.”

“Now see here Naylor, I’m not altogether sure I care for your tone. Might I remind you who pays the piper calls the proverbial... eh.”

Naylor gave a deep sigh.

“In fact, you pay no-one... that’s why I’m here... You do seem inordinately fond of a tune Mr. Colbert. In exactly one week, all properties and goods pertaining to you shall be seized. The jig is up... shall we say.”

With that, he left, leaving a raging Robbie. He wondered if the “bone breakers” might be set on Naylor. Would a bailiff be missed?

“Not friggin likely” he guffawed, and delighted by his own resurgence quoted a line from Oscar Wilde,

Murder is always a mistake; one should never do anything that one can not talk about after dinner .

He slapped the earphones on, debated another line or so of coke and shouted,

“Do it to me Neil... way to go buddy.”