Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (14 page)

Chapter 30

Mike and Dad:

  “Tim, you know that Mike knew Dad?” That was first thing I said, as Tim came over to the car.

  Tim hit the button on his key unlocking the doors, stopped and looked over the roof of the car. “You figured that out, ‘en?”

  “Something Mike just said. How does he know him?”

  “Better get in the car, it’s a long story.”

  Tim fired up the car.

  “Well, come on?”  Slouching into a comfortable position, preparing for a long story.

  “Back in 1990, Davie was pally wi’ Mike’s brother, Carl Jenkins. They used to do the odd job together.”

  “Jobs. What kind o’ jobs?” Asking quickly, not giving him a chance to continue his story.

  “Thieving, sorting boys out, that kind of thing. They were on the hunt for a pair o’ lads in Aberdeen that ripped off a gangster in Glasgow, Jamie Dean, a relation in some way to Steve Dean. Their job was to find them and hold them until Jamie Dean made his way up to Aberdeen to finish them off.”

  “Aye, carry on.”

  “Right, Davie and Carl spent a couple weeks looking for these two, they'd all but given up. Unbelievably, both men walked straight into The Fountain when Davie and Carl sat at the bar.” Tim paused for breath.

  “What happened next?”

  “They couldn’t believe their luck. Two weeks of looking for these two bastards, and they walked right into the palms of their hands. Carl clicked onto who they were right away. He’d carried a photo in his wallet for two weeks. He signaled Davie to follow him into the toilet to hatch a plan. When they left, Davie headed outside, waiting for them to come out.”

  “Who were they?” I was totally engrossed in the story.

  “Well, Carl knew who they were, he picked up the job and told Davie what he needed to know. A couple o’ knife-thugs from Glasgow. The kind of boys who grew up in the slums, and carried a blade like a fashion accessory.”

  “So, what did they do to Jamie Dean?”

  “The word was, they intercepted a huge haul of drugs on the way to Jamie Dean. Pills, if I remember right. When they found out they belonged to Mr Dean, they disappeared from the city. They’d been shifting it up our way.”

  “What happened to Dad when he went outside?”

  “The plan was for Davie to head outside and wait. Carl was supposed to follow the two guys out once they left. The thing is, once they left the pub, he just sat on his seat sipping away at his pint.”

  “Dad got left to deal with both men outside?”

  “Aye, he tried. He stopped them in their tracks as they came outside at closing time. He was waiting for Carl to come out and back him up. He didn’t.”

  “You’re going to tell me he got stabbed and ended up in hospital?”

  “Aye, that’s right. Davie tried to take them both on at once and in normal cases, he would’ve been successful, but he wasn’t prepared for these two cunts being armed with blades. I don’t think they lifted their hands to him, but what they did do, was stab him five times. Once in the upper arm and four times in the chest and stomach.”

  “Jesus, I remember that. Me and mum visited him in hospital. Carl didn't come out?”

  “Here’s where the story grows another leg. Your Dad was shagging Carl’s bird at the time. Carl knew and wanted to get his own back. He found out, but didn’t let Davie know that he knew. Carl didn't bargain on Davie living. God knows what was going through his head. Like Mike, Carl was a grumpy, back-stabbing jealous bastard.”

  “Fuckin’ prick, shaggin’ other birds. Tim, you know more about my old man than I do. He must’ve been lucky to make it through that.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying. Your Dad is one hard son of a bitch. The nurses said to your mother that they'd never seen somebody so close to death and be able to walk out the door as if nothing happened.”

  “All this is why Mike’s a bit funny wi’ me?”

  “The story isn’t finished yet
.
You know the story of your Dad killing someone in a scrap, aye?”

  “I’ve heard the stories, aye.”

  “Three months later, once your Dad was fully fit, he tracked Carl down and challenged him to a fight. Last-man-standing rules. Carl, the stupid cunt, agreed. A big fucker like Mike, but wasn’t the fighter your Dad was. He just said yes ‘cos he knew your Dad wouldn’t stop until he got his own back. Carl just wanted it over and done with, but little did he know. Mike was only twenty at the time, and had no influence over his older brother.”

  “Last-man-standing?”

  “Jesus man, I thought you’d know that. It’s when somebody gets knocked down, the round ends they go back to the corner, or they have a minute to come to, then the round starts again. And no hitting when the man’s down. It’s frowned upon in this game, but happens a lot. Old-school rules, as they say.”

  “The fight? Dad killed Carl, right?”

  “Aye, that’s pretty much it, Joe. Bare-knuckle. In the top floor of the Bon Accord parking lot. Davie kept winding Carl up about his bird saying stuff like ‘She was gagging for it, I taught her what a real man feels like.’ Carl got sucked in and kept coming. Davie kept putting him down, round after round. Somebody counted Carl was down about sixteen times, but once he went down the seventeenth time, there was no getting up.”

  “Killed him?”

  “This is what Mike told me. Carl was on the ground on one knee and Davie cupped his chin with his left hand and nailed him as sweet as you like across the jaw with his right fist. Game over. Carl was in a permanent sleep. Got told from an older guy I know that it was the most vicious punch he'd ever seen. Davie played with him the whole fight, knowing he was going to kill him.”

  “You’re telling me that Mike witnessed all this?”

  “Aye, he was there and seen it all. Like you, he’s  desperate to get hold o’ your Dad.”

  “No wonder he’s so fuckin’ touchy wi’ me. And, he can join the queue.”

  “Don’t worry, he's touchy wi’ everyone, not just you.”

  That was a lot to take in on the way home from Kilgours. I remember the time as a young boy. I didn’t really understand what was going on with Dad in hospital. Five stab wounds and he survived! If he ever got his hands on those two Glaswegians, they’d live to regret their actions. It was sad that Tim knew more about my Dad than I did but hey, I didn’t want to know him growing up.

  I was getting more curious to know how much other dodgy shit he got up to. This road I was walking down was teaching me as much about my Father as it was teaching me about myself.

Chapter 31

Ticking Clock:

  Later in the week on Thursday, I was checking my emails on the Jobcentre computer. I had a request for an interview for the dispatch job the following Tuesday. One of four jobs I’d recently applied for. Not a job I was at all interested in, but it meant steady cash coming in and an end to the rut we were in. 

  I emailed back straight away, explaining I would be very happy to attend their interview. 

  It was great news, though it didn’t mean I would get the job.

The fight getting closer, the two grand in my grasp, I couldn’t forget that.

  Still mystified as to why Skinner burned to exchange fists with me. Surely a look wasn’t enough to entice him into a fight?

  The anticipation of the bout and the apprehension of fighting without gloves on was making me snappy with the kids. I spent most of Thursday and Friday, lazily moping around, ignoring the mundane housework. Choosing to watch the pish daytime TV.

  I called Tim on Friday morning, arranging the cover story and plan for the weekend.

  “Alright, Joe. What’s the crack?”

  “Alright, pal. What’s happening the morn?”

  “Leaving around six. Mike tells me the fight’s around the back of eight.”

  “Right, I’ve told the missus I’m working in Inverness. I’ll have to be out the house early, but not too early. Around ten?”

  “Aye lad, that’s fine. I might be out doing a couple o’ errands, but I’ll tell Dawn you’re coming.  She won’t mind you hanging around until I get back. You taking the bus?”

  “Aye, that’s sound ‘en. She can rustle up some o’ that fine grub while I’m waiting. Aye, I’ll get the bus again. Should be there around eleven some time.”

  “Dawn will probably make you feel more at home than me.”

  “She’s a good one, your Dawn. Listen have to go, I’ll see you the morn, ‘en.”

  “Joe, take it easy, lad.”

  That was that sorted. I packed my rucksack with some essentials, and hid it in the bottom of my wardrobe ready to pick up in the morning. All I had to do now, was pick the kids up later on, fill in the night with them and May, and try not to worry about the scrap.

  I knew Skinner was the complete opposite of me. I was a family man fighting to put food on the table, keep the roof over our heads. He was probably doing it to feed his fix of aggression, his ego or fill his pockets.

  Couldn’t picture him at the dinner table, or putting the washing in the machine. He would be more like the kind of man my Father was, no morals, no scruples, no heart and only looking out for number one. Probably avoiding the tax-man and loading his pockets with illegal pounds.

  My Dad always had tons of cash, throwing lumps of it at Mum, trying to justify his behaviour. A clue he was getting ready to do a disappearing act, would be leaving hundreds on the bedside-table.

  Now, I knew where it came from, fighting, thieving, betting, or debt-collecting. He may have had it figured out, though. Look at me, I’d had a punishing life for years, worked hard, looked after my family and I’m left with nothing. Being honest doesn't earn you money.

Chapter 32

In Anticipation:

  I slept in a bit on Saturday, letting May handle the kids. The alarm belled and I dragged myself out of bed into the bathroom for a shower and shave.

  Looking into the mirror, I saw an aging face, untidy hair getting greyer by the day, roughening skin, and eyes haunted by a life too hard.

  Having had a restless sleep and hearing the kids making a racket downstairs, I wasn't in any kind of mood to deal with them along with my feelings of doubt, fear and worry, not knowing if I would come out of this weekend in one piece.

  I pictured how the fight would go as the water cascaded over my back in the shower. ‘Bloody’ was the only way I could picture it. No gloves, just mitts.

  I hadn’t felt the punch from a knuckle in years, not since my teenage days of street-brawls. I imagine wearing the mitts would have the same unforgiving bone-to-bone impact.

  I walked into the living room to see Jess and Junior play-fighting. Jess armed with a cushion trying to batter her older brother, while he crouched in a ball on the corner of the sofa, playfully taking a beating from her.

  “Stop! Stop!” Junior shouting “I’ve had enough, you win!”

  “Yes, I win. Junior is the loser! Junior is the loser!” Jess boasting, as she ran round in circles, delighted with herself.

  I butted in. “Hey, what’s going on here? Sugar overdose, or something?”

  “Daddy, Daddy! I beat Junior!” with her smile as wide as a clown’s.

  “I see that Jess, calm down. It’s far too loud for a Saturday morning. Junior, you big fairy.”

  Junior whispered in my ear. “I just let her win, she wasn’t really beating me up.”

  “Mmm, I’ll take your word for it. Listen do me a favour and keep the noise down while I have some breakfast. Stick the telly on.”

  “OK, but after that can we go have a kick about?” Asking with the excited twitch young kids get when they're itching to do something.

  “I can’t, I have to work this weekend. But, when I get back we can, maybe Monday night?”

  “Noooo. But, Dad! I want to have a kick about today!” He was tugging my jeans as he asked.

  “NO! boy, I already said I have to work. Now sit down and watch the telly with your sister.” I raised my voice louder than I should have. I wanted some peace and quiet, it was first thing in the morning, for Christ’s sake. Just before I left the room, I was drawn to our wedding picture, hung above the wall and struck with a horrid flood of remorse.

  I headed to the kitchen where May had made breakfast. I thanked her with a kiss.

  I really didn’t want the breakfast as my belly was already full, with anxiety over what I was about to do. Playing with my food, I was in a daydream.

  “Do you want toast? Joe! I said, do you want toast?”

  “AYE, OK!” I shouted, making her flinch.

  The noise of the kids from the sitting room and over-thinking the fight made me snap. Feeling trapped in my own house.

  I threw the food down my neck, drank my tea and had to leave.

  “So when will you be home? Sunday again?” May asked, peeved because I raised my voice. The friction could be felt in the air.

  “Should be Sunday night.”

  “Well behave yourself over the weekend.” She joked.

  “Since when do I not behave, woman?” I angrily answered back.

  “Fucking hell, Joe. Calm down!”

  “Right, am out o’ here. See you later.” I picked up my bag from the wardrobe, grabbed my coat and slammed the door shut on my way out just as May shouted.

  “You not even going to say ‘bye to your kids?”

  The obvious answer was no, but I couldn’t believe I left my house and didn’t say ‘bye to my kids. Stepping out the door was such an almighty relief, I wasn’t going back in.

  I used the slow march to the bus stop to clear my stressed head. It was a cold, frosty November morning. I had left far too early, but was happy to be out the fucking zoo.

I arrived at Tim’s at quarter past ten. Dawn welcomed me into the house.  Her twin, three year-old boys were at it. Both of them sobbing, clinging to their mother as she hovered around the kitchen.

  “Mummy, we want to go to the park. Mummy, please, Mummy!”

  “Jesus, you two drive me crazy!” She belted out at the twins. “Just keep quiet, will you? We can go later.”

Thought I had left this childish crap behind me an hour ago, I really wasn’t in the mood for anyone else’s kids.

  “Really sorry about this, Joe. They’ve been driving me crazy all morning. I’ll get them out your hair and you can chill out until Tim gets back.”

  “That’s OK, I’ve got a boy and a girl at home. Am used to it.” Pretending to sound supportive.

  “Our house is your house, so help yourself to anything you want.” Which is just what I did, helping myself to a chilled bottle of juice from the fridge, and settling on the sofa.

She left about an hour later, wrapping her kids up warm.

  The house was finally silent, I could relax.

Tim arrived home a few hours later carrying a couple of heavy cardboard boxes. I got up to greet him.

  “About time dickhead. I’ve been waiting three hours for you.”

  “Sorry lad, I couldn’t get here sooner. Where’s Dawn?”

  “She fucked off hours ago, took the kids to the park.”

  “Aye, she’ll be round at one o’ her mate’s now, drinking tea and gossiping. Irish women are good at that.”

  “What’s in the boxes?”

  “Eh, just some shit I need to shift.”

  “Like?”

  “Some PlayStations, Xboxes, games. You want some?”

  “Aye, give me a couple games for Junior.”

  “Take your pick.”

  I rummaged in the boxes and pulled out a couple, knowing they were hot, but least I could give something to my boy. He didn’t get much these days.

  “Cheers, these will do. How much?”

  “Na, it’s alright.”

  Well that was a first. Tim giving you some of his merchandise for free. It would be a different story if this was the old Tim. Back in the day, he kept a black book for his accounts. Letting people pay in instalments, interest added of course.

  “Hey, make some grub, will you? I need to shower, it’s been a long night. Just rustle something up from the fridge.”

  Disappearing upstairs, I opened the fridge, abundant with food, unlike ours. When he said “It's been a long night”, I presumed he meant he was on a night-time raid, hence his boxes full of goodies.

  While we sat eating, I asked about Skinner. “What’s he all about?”

  “He’s what you would call...a bit of a wild card. He’s English. I’ve spoken to him a few times, and can’t quite figure him out.”

  “Mike says he’s an evil cunt?”

  “Remember that day we picked up those briefcases?”

  “Aye.”

  “The briefcases were full of fake paper. He's a master at his trade. The banknotes are almost flawless. He's done time for everything, from shoplifting to fraud. Mike uses him for fights now and again. He doesn't play by the rules. Very unpredictable.”

  “What you mean, unpredictable?”

  “He doesn't care about anything, he's a bad egg, that’s it.”

  “The cunt better turn up, so I can collect my cash. I need it.”

  “Aye, the sounds o’ things, he’s probably heard about your last fight and wants a piece of you, take you down a peg, so I don’t think he’ll be a no-show.”

  “Does he fight a lot?”

  “Well, not really, just now and again. He’s took a few fights from Mike and Bull. I've only seen one, he pretty much tore the boy apart in the first round, the second he played with him. The third he put the guy in hospital. Booted him in the ribs a few times, broke five and busted up his face pretty bad. He’s an animal, he doesn’t live by rules and won’t put a pair of gloves on. His fights are always behind closed doors, with a small, selected crowd.”

  Once Tim had given me the low-down on Skinner, my first thought was, he's a bully. Someone that thrived on seeing you in pain. If he was so keen to bully me, he’s in for an almighty shock because that’s the last thing that will happen. His big advantage is that I can’t wear gloves, the fight won't be in a ring, and he’s from the street and that's how they fight.

  So be it. I’ll just learn quickly. This cunt doesn’t know who I really am, he doesn’t know that I carry the blood of Davie Rhodes.