Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 (28 page)

Mickey and Tommy picked me up in unison and lifted me right over the railings, all the time keeping a firm grip. As they lowered me the other side, the tips of my toes found the edge of the wooden beams that protruded beyond the bottom of the railings. Distributing my weight on the narrow ledge, I grabbed the iron posts as tightly as I could. The assistant goons let go and stood back. All of them looked on, exchanging smiles and nods. Keith made a big deal of checking his watch while Jimmy leaned back, repeatedly changing the angle of his view. He seemed to be admiring his own fiendishness, like the self-satisfied presenter on a Japanese game show.

‘You gonna jump straightaway, Marine Boy? Get it over with?’ asked Jimmy. ‘Or linger as long as you can?’ He winked at Keith. ‘You see, me and the boys have got a spread bet going.’

I saw smiles widen across all their faces as Keith took the piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Jimmy. Cartwright studied the paper, looked at Tommy, then at me.

‘It would appear our Tom don’t rate your fortitude much, that’s for sure. He’s nearly out the money already.’

Tommy took a step forward and pulled out his gun. ‘This’ll shorten the odds.’

The others laughed.

My toes ached, and the rusting edges of the railing posts cut into my hands. I couldn’t hold on for long.

‘Okay, fellas,’ I said. ‘You’ve had your fun. You’ve outdone yourselves. I give in now. Get me back, eh?’

‘Begging, Eddie?’

‘Askin’ nicely.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘No reprieve this time, sonny. Sorry. Three strikes. You know the rest.’

I caught his eye and stared at him. ‘Jimmy, listen. You know those two black guys I saw today?’

‘The ones you denied seeing, you mean?’

My lips stretched to a weak smile. ‘I was joshing, you know me.’

‘Too late for confession. Tough titty.’

‘It’s important. You have to hear this.’

Jimmy looked at his watch. ‘Well, you’ve got a few seconds before my bet kicks in. It’s a free country.’

‘They killed her.’

Jimmy’s eyelid twitched. Tommy let go a nervous laugh.

‘Now, why would they do that?’

‘It was an accident. They were trying to track down their mother. They went to see Helen to get information. It got out of hand.’ I gulped down air. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting them now, in town.’

‘What was Porson to them?’

‘Their mother is Helen’s sister.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Jimmy. ‘She didn’t have a sister.’

I shook my head urgently. ‘She did, Jimmy. It was a secret. The sister was kept hidden away in a nursing home. Porson never told anyone.’

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ said Jimmy, crossing his arms. He tilted his head at Tommy. ‘It’s time.’

My hands felt numb and blood trickled down my wrists.

‘Yeah, time to learn the truth.’ I took in more air and slowed down my delivery. ‘They left her there, dying. They heard you arriving. They saw you as they left. I don’t know what you found when you went in there, Jimmy, but she was already gone. You’re in the clear. You don’t have to do this.’

‘I know you’re lying, Eddie. I talked to the bitch that day. She was alive and kicking when I
went in. She had plenty to say, too. She fuckin’ lost it, tried to slice me. I had to choke her to drop the knife. I left her in the kitchen right where she fell.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tommy, ‘we done her.’

‘Shut it, Tom. Careless talk.’ Jimmy clicked his neck.

‘But, boss–’

‘I said zip it.’

Jimmy looked at me. ‘She was breathing when we left. I know that. When I heard she was dead–’

‘I can prove you didn’t kill her.’

The Kingpin gave several mock nods. ‘I wondered what shit you’d come out with to save your skin. You’ll be tellin’ me Father Christmas ain’t real next.’

 The tips of my trainers were slipping on the rotting wood. My eardrums bounced to the sound of crashing water. It was now or never.

‘There’s more,’ I said, desperation unsettling my voice.

‘Not interested.’

‘You will be.’

Tommy lifted his gun level with my chest. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

I looked back at Jimmy. ‘Helen Porson is alive. I’ve seen her. I know where she is.’

Jimmy’s face seemed to fold in on itself. He blinked a few times.

‘He’s pissin’ about,’ declared Tommy. He slid back the side catch on his gun and realigned the sight with my palpitating heart.

‘I swear on my mum’s life, Jimmy. I swear on
your
mum’s life.’ A shadow of hesitation flickered through his eyes. ‘It’s true. I can take you to her.’

‘Don’t listen, boss,’ said Tommy. ‘He’s a gob shite.’

Jimmy nodded. ‘Tom’s right. You said the black boys killed her.’

‘The sister, Jimmy. It was her twin sister. That’s who got killed. She was staying at the house. Mistaken identity.’

‘It’s bollocks upon bollocks.’ Jimmy’s fingers were frantic as he rubbed the side of his head. ‘It was Helen Porson who came at me that day. No fuckin’ ifs, buts, or maybes.’

‘But you said she was breathing when you left.’

All Jimmy’s tics erupted at once. He stared at each of his crew in turn, boring into them, trying to make them give him an answer that worked. Tommy shook his head, Keith shrugged, and Mickey puffed out his cheeks.

‘Anyway, back to me. I’m slipping here.’

‘I’ll plug that fuckin’ noise,’ said Tommy. He took a step towards me.

‘No, wait,’ said Jimmy. He pushed a hand out to his host of heavies. ‘I’m trying to think.’

My left foot broke away from the edge. All I could feel was a shooting pain in my other foot. Taking more of my weight on my arms, I clung tighter to the railings. As my inner elbow dug into my jacket, it pushed at something in my pocket. Why hadn’t I thought of it before?

‘I’ve got an old photo.’ I was shouting now. ‘Of the twins. It’s in my jacket pocket. Take a look. It proves what I’m saying.’

Tommy turned side on to his boss. ‘He’s fucking you around.’

‘Get the photo.’

‘He’s a toe rag. Don’t listen.’

‘Get the fuckin’ photo,’ ordered Jimmy.

‘And hurry the fuck up,’ I added.

I glanced down at the swirling, brown water. It looked as if the river was parting to receive me, begging me to let go. Tommy marched over to the railings and crunched his face into a snarl as he faced me. I tipped my chin toward my inside right pocket. He yanked my lapel to one side and thrust his hand into my jacket. He pulled out the photo, gave it the “once over” then held it out behind him. Jimmy came over and took it. He studied the black and white image and started nodding to himself.

‘I told you, Jimmy. It’s proof. You can bring me back now.’

‘It means fuck-all,’ said Tommy.

Jimmy couldn’t tear his eyes from the photo. He kept flicking it against his thumbnail. With Cartwright toiling against his own misgivings, Tommy edged closer to the railings. He noticed the blood on my hands and smiled.

‘Come on, Tom,’ I said, ‘war’s over.’

He studied me for a few seconds, and with no emotion in his face he offered his hand. It jutted out above the railing. As I tried to grab his wrist, he withdrew it in a blur, and I clutched at damp air. From the recoil I could feel myself tipping backwards and beginning to slide down. Before I could clamp my hand back around the railing, Tommy swung his pistol butt into my holding hand.

‘Fuck!’

The pain went through me like a fireball. I had to let go. Within a blink, my feet gave way. I started to fall, my hands flailing at the railing posts. I saw Tommy laughing as Jimmy pushed forward. My head dropped below the bridge beams, and I managed to grapple both hands around the bottom bracket of the railings. My grip held, but a sharp pain seared through my fingers. Suspended, my body went into a natural swing. I knew I only had a few seconds. If I could swing out far enough past the middle of the river, I might get to the bank on the other side before getting churned by the weir. That’s if I ever surfaced.

My arms were exhausted. I couldn’t feel my fingers. One last swing and it would be down to hard words with fate. But as I made the final inwards swing, wishing I could have done everything differently, something caught my eye below. I let go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Sunday – 18:02

With toes pointing down I dropped six or seven feet, aiming for the workers’ cage below. Like a high jumper in reverse, I curved my legs and lower back past the top bar of the cradle, landing heavily on the steel platform. Springing forward from the hip-hop landing, my chest crashed into the bar on the other side. Only the steel tubes stopped me from toppling straight back out. The basket rocked from side to side, but its cables held firm. I sat hunched over my damaged ribs and clung on. I rubbed my chest with my bloody hands, but didn’t actually think I could feel distinct bones anymore. I daren’t look, either. They would be black, blue, and all shades in between.

On the bridge above I heard Tommy telling the others he hadn’t heard a splash. From their footfalls and voices, I guessed they were looking over the railings, trying to spot me in the water. I didn’t think they could see the cage, but it wouldn’t take long before they worked it out. In any case, I had to keep moving. I was late for a date.

After a few deep breaths, I got to my feet and examined the cradle. Judging by the rust, it had been around longer than I had. There were no controls that I could see, and though I spotted a winch crank-handle, it was at the top of the cable, alongside the bridge. Well out of reach. A jump to the middle stanchion looked a fair bet. I measured the distance in my head and tried to imagine where I’d land, but I couldn’t see any handholds or footholds on the sandstone blocks to aim for.

I looked down. The river still beckoned. At least if I dropped from the bottom of the cage I’d have a better chance.

With my mind made up, I grabbed a cable, squeezed through the top two bars and lowered myself down the outside of the cage one rung at a time. Sensing a movement above me, I looked up and saw Mickey at full stretch over the balustrade, trying to see under the bridge. I tucked my head in and kept still, but the cage swung from the momentum. The groan from the cable made a dull echo in the stone arch and Mickey shouted something I didn’t hear. I figured they were onto me. It was time to make a leap of faith.

Dangling over the churning waters, waiting for my “hallelujah” moment, a familiar
chug chug
noise started to throb in my ears – the most joyful, welcome sound I’d ever heard. I looked out from under the bridge to the upstream curve of the river, and there she blew: the “Mark Twain
”
showboat, moving at full speed. It always turned by the Mill Bridge, threading back through the middle span. The boat would pass right under me – and who said “never the twain shall meet”?

If there was a soundtrack to our lives, I’d be hearing
Let It Be
playing in the ether. George was right, sometimes there really is an answer.

I climbed back up the cage and spread my legs to the furthest points on the lowest rung, almost doing the splits. A minute or so more, and I could drop onto the roof of the upper viewing deck.