Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 (26 page)

Having got to the haven of Bob’s front step, I hit the hardwood door with my fist, using up the last dregs of whatever energy remained. When the tiniest of gaps opened, I charged into the front hall, shoved Bob out of the way and slammed the door closed.

I turned to face Bob. He was stammering, and his eyes were cartwheeling, but I was in no mood to listen to his objections.

‘Things have changed,’ I said, pushing past him brusquely.

My only thought was to get to the front room and close the curtains. But as I dashed through the hall and almost fell into Bob’s front room, cigar smoke assaulted my nostrils. At that point the association didn’t register. Only when millions of pixels amalgamated into stark focus did the horror assume a bodily form. He was sat in the same place I had been sitting less than fifteen minutes previously, beaming a valedictory smile.

‘Who’s a pretty boy, then?’ said Jimmy, winking and blowing out a cloud of smoke.

‘Fuck,’ I mumbled. ‘It can’t be.’

Jimmy’s hands opened out into a welcome gesture. ‘Glad you could join us.’

I stared at him. ‘Fuck you.’

As I half turned I bumped into Bob, who’d followed after me. I pushed him aside. ‘And fuck you especially, you backstabbing piece of shit.’

Bob declined to look me in the eye.

I strode back to the hall, trying to keep a grip on my failing sanity. What was going on? Had I really just seen Jimmy in Bob’s front room? My head danced a thousand dances as I tried to make sense of the latest newsflash.

‘See ya,’ called out Jimmy, a chuckle in his voice.

‘In hell.’

I fumbled with the latch, unable to open the front door fast enough. It finally clicked free, and I yanked back, but before I could step forward, my torso was assailed by a now familiar giant hammer fist. It powered into my abdomen, courtesy, once again, of Mr Charm himself, my good friend Tommy. I slumped to my knees as the agony rushed over me.

Maybe I haven’t expressed it too well until now, but he was starting to seriously piss me off. One day, somehow, a change was gonna come.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sunday – 17:32

It was just like old times: winded, kneeling and seeing stars in my eyes. “Tonight, Matthew,” I rehearsed in my head, “I’m going to be ... getting even with these fuckers.”

Jimmy and Bob came into the hall from the front room. I looked up and stared at them, but Bob still made no eye contact. Jimmy looked his normal evil, avuncular self. He smelled much as he had last time, too: spice notes billowing from his aftershave, mingling with tobacco smoke. All bound up in another sharp suit.

Crisscrossing my arms, I tried to clamp down on the pain in my stomach. Panic signals arrived in my brain as my lungs heaved for air. My lack of breath, though, didn’t diminish a full-bore shake
of
the head at Bob. Inwardly I was still wrestling with denial, but the
mea culpa
gloom on his face made sudden sense. Bob on the take. How had I not guessed? How had I not seen it before?

Bob had been like a personal Reuters
service for Jimmy. Especially when it came to scoops à la Eddie. No wonder the Kingpin and his merry men had been following my vapour trails from take-off.

As I looked down, still struggling for air and trying to regain focus, I saw a strange outline that jagged into the skirting board at the side of the stairs. I wondered if that might be where Bob stashed his spoils.

‘You don’t need a trailer to be trash,’ I croaked, using all my first breath.

Jimmy gave up a big belly laugh. ‘Me or him?’ he asked, flicking a thumb at Bob.

‘If the shit sticks, Jimmy.’

‘Shut that big mouth, Greene.’ Tommy bore over me and pressed his knee into my spine.

Jimmy gave him the hand. ‘No point spoilin’ the show.’ He winked at Tommy and then pointed his finger at me. ‘Go on. You get it off your chest.’

I had to think carefully about the right words. ‘Bob, you’re a fucking Judas.’

‘Temper, temper,’ said Jimmy.

Bob shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Don’t shake it. Hang it in shame, you piece of shit.’ I waited for another breath. ‘If my Dad was–’

‘He was no different, lad. Why’d you think we were pals?’

‘Liar,’ I spat. ‘Fuckin’ double shame on you.’

‘It’s true,’ said Bob, his weight shifting from foot to foot. He inclined his head towards Cartwright. ‘Ask him.’

‘Yeah, like I listen to scumbags.’

Jimmy looked at me with a non-committal smile. As our eyes engaged, I studied him for signs of truth or damnation but saw nothing.

He turned away and glanced at Bob. ‘Let him believe,’ he soothed, ‘while he’s still young.’

I ignored the bait and concentrated on enemy number one. ‘Either way, Bob, I’m coming for ya.’ I gave him an oversized nod. ‘Believe that.’

‘Play nice, Eddie,’ said Jimmy, his nose pinching at the bridge. He looked at us in turn and broke into a smile. ‘Well, enough happy families.’ He adjusted his tie. ‘Show’s over.’ After pushing up on his toes, he took a step forward and raised an eyebrow at Tommy.

Tommy scrunched my jacket into his bludgeon of a fist, pulled me to my feet and propelled me out of the house. He stiff-armed me all the way down the drive, with Jimmy strolling along casually behind. At the end of the drive I flopped forward from Tommy’s hold and saw the funeral-style Range Rover parked a few houses down on the left. It flashed its lights.

I should have been thinking about an escape plan, but my brain fizzed with interference. An attempt seemed pointless anyway. I had zip energy, and Tommy’s grip on me was non-negotiable. It’d be like trying to pull clear of Jupiter. As we turned out of the drive I saw Bob watching me from his front window. He had one of those looks on his face that I would never forget: a layer cake of hurt, fear and shame. Yeah, like I gave a shit.

‘Follow the gold brick road all you like,’ I hollered at the window. ‘But don’t forget I’m coming for you. And pain’s coming with me.’

Tommy gouged his knuckles into the base of my neck, tightened his grip, and told me to shut up. Or words to that effect. As we walked along the pavement, all I could think about was what Bob had said about Dad. It had to be a lie, so why did he say it? Was he deflecting, trying to lessen the guilt? And why say it in front of Jimmy? Jimmy would know it was a lie. Yet his reaction didn’t fit? Back in the day, something must have gone down. But what?

Had Bob tried to recruit Dad to “Team Jimmy
”
and been refused? In which case, Dad would have disowned Bob. I couldn’t make any sense of it. When I searched my mind for an answer, all I got was “404”.

Whatever sad-ass saga Bob might contrive, he still had explaining to do. But for now, the
schadenfreude
would have to wait; I had
schaden
of my own to worry about. Somehow I had to regroup and focus on more immediate problems. All the while I remained in Jimmy’s custody, my fate was not only cemented, but I was losing time. Time I didn’t have. My mission, should I choose to accept it, was to find a way to blindside Jimmy, get a message to Kate, and be at the Town Hall for six. Easy when you said it quickly, but they’d stopped taking bets.

~

The Range Rover drew up, and I was hustled inside. My déjà vu vibe was not only back, but stuck on a permanent loop. Once again I was the filler for a Jimmy and Tommy sandwich in the back of a sports utility vehicle. This time I vowed to follow my own advice: stay calm, stay polite and stay outta trouble.

‘Worth every penny, that Bob,’ said Jimmy, his eyes a-twinkle.

‘You got a diamond there,’ I agreed.

‘Yeah, top drawer.’

‘As ratfinks go.’

‘What would you know about anything? I’ve had nothing but loyalty and respect from that man.’

‘I’ve got a tent you can borrow.’

I felt Tommy lean in and it wasn’t just his muscles that over-powered me. He smelt like an abattoir in a heatwave.

‘You could learn a lot from someone like that,’ Jimmy went on. ‘But you’re content bein’ a loser. Like your Dad.’

‘Nah, that’s called integrity. Sounds similar but the letters are all different.’

‘What, you don’t think your old man took Jimmy’s shilling in the end? They all do.’ A sly smile slithered across his face.

I lifted my hands to cover my ears. ‘Not listening, not listening.’

‘Always the witty riposte, eh, Eddie.’

‘Well, it was either that or “Go fuck yourself”, and I know you’re big on the whole respect thing.’

Jimmy gave me a squinty look. ‘You used to amuse me, Eddie. You used to be funny. Now you’re just a loud mouth.’ His eye twitched. ‘No point keepin’ you warm much longer.’

‘Might be your opinion, Jimmy, but the world has changed. Points make prizes, and dead men still tell tales.’

Jimmy tapped his armrest and looked at me. ‘You weren’t so cocky in the forest.’

‘I didn’t realise you were such a shit-kicker back then.’ I shrugged. ‘Anyway, what can I tell ya? The fear’s wearin’ off.’

‘We’ll see.’

Jimmy looked out the near-side window, feigning interest in the world outside. Tommy played follow-my-leader but looked the other way. I set my gaze straight ahead, trying to keep my bearings. From the landmarks and smell of sludge, I could tell we were near the river and heading for the old industrial area. As the car chugged along, the destination became clear: looming through the windscreen and dominating the skyline, the disused edifice of Weighton’s dark satanic mill. Jimmy had a knack for finding locations where he fit right in.

Pretending to stretch, I risked a desperate “help me” stare at the onrushing traffic. No takers. As far as anyone knew, we were on a jolly boys’ outing, though Tommy looked about as jolly as a sociopath in solitary confinement.

‘I saw this documentary once,’ Jimmy was saying, his eyes still on the far horizon. ‘About a bloke who had the front bit of his brain removed. The hippo … hippa … something. Anyway, meant he had no short-term memory. Fascinating it was. To him, every day was like a new day, like the previous day hadn’t –’

‘Is this going anywhere, Jimmy?’

Tommy lifted his elbow, but Jimmy gave him the “hold fire” stare. As they swapped facial tics, I peeked at my watch. It was nearly quarter to six. Time and tide wait for no man, and my plan was already underwater.

‘If you were to shut the fuck up now and then, Eddie’ said Jimmy, ‘you might learn something.’

‘About hippos?’

‘About your condition. You’ve got the same affliction as that bloke.’

‘I don’t think so. It’s more likely to be all these blows to my head. Not that I’m name calling.’ I risked a glance at Tommy, but there was no reaction. Unless I actually mentioned him by name I guessed he’d be none the wiser.

‘No,’ said Jimmy. He tilted his forehead and tapped a finger against his front lobe. ‘It’s this that’s missing.’

‘Now you’re confusing me with Tommy.’

Jimmy laughed. Tommy ground his elbow into my rib cage.

‘Leave him, Tom,’ commanded Jimmy. ‘He’s just havin’ a bit of sport, the tinker.’ He fiddled with his quiff in the mirror. ‘Let him play his little games, it’ll be our turn soon. Difference being we like extreme sports, don’t we, Tom?’