‘You okay?’ I say.
‘Fuck off,’ she says.
She lights another cigarette as I move away from the table.
Staring at the glass in front of her. It’s all fun and games when she’s playing with the idea of killing her husband. But once morality kicks in, she’s deflated. Daft cow. Telling me to fuck off. It’s her right, but I don’t have to like it.
I pass by the bar. Brenda’s husband gives me the evil eye. I give him one straight back.
Time I left, anyway. The whole night’s been a bust.
THREE
‘Mo, fuck’s the matter with you?’ said Baz.
I looked up. He were in the middle of summat, but I’d not catched it. He were looking at us, his eyes wide like I were supposed to say summat. He were a fat fuckin’ bastard, were Baz. Big shoulders and a belly like a fuckin’ toddler hanging off him. Didn’t help that he always had his T-shirt tucked right in his trackie bottoms.
‘You what?’ I said.
“I were telling you summat, Mo. Rossie, he went and fucked a brasser up Cheetham Hill.’
‘Uh.’
‘Sharone,’ he said. ‘You know Sharone?’
‘She’s a fuckin’ crack whore. I seen her with fuckin’ Columbo, man. He selled her fuckin’ rocks.’
‘Aye,’ said Baz. ‘And Rossie did it.’
‘Fuck’s sake. He wants to get himself to the clinic’
‘Call him Johnny Nob-Rot, man.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘G’an, call him Johnny Nob-Rot.’
‘You call him Johnny Nob-Rot. I’ll call him Rossie Skankfucker.’
Baz lapped that up and the vallies kicked in. I smiled.
Didn’t laugh, mind. Because even with the vallies, I still didn’t feel like it. Not after the news I just had. I downed the rest of me pint and pulled on Baz. ‘C’mon.’
“I still got a half here.’
‘Fuck it. I’m off.’
Which meant he were giving us a ride. Baz swallowed what he could and we went. I got Baz to drive us over to the Wheatsheaf. He started on with pissing and moaning, but when he clocked the look in my eyes, he said nowt. Baz might’ve been a big bloke, but he knew when I were serious as fuckin’ cancer.
‘I got to go and see Callum Innes tomorrow,’ I said when we was in the car.
‘You need snooping done, like?’ said Baz.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Way I hear it, he’s a private eye.’
‘You what?’
Baz cracked a grin. ‘Aye, he’s a private eye. Like a fuckin’ detective an’ that.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘You never heard then.’
‘Nah, I just thought he were a jailbird.’
‘He got out,’ said Baz. ‘Fucker thought he’d set up his own PI business.’
‘Fuck does he think he is?’
‘Straight, from what I hear.’
‘How can he be straight working for a poof like Paulo Gray?’
Baz liked that one. He laughed and I stared out the window some more. A private detective. Wondered if me dad knew about that. Probs. Which were why I had to go and see him.
Fuckin’ private detective. Shit. How did that happen?
Weren’t so long ago the lad were throwing up on himself ‘cause he were so scared.
Baz turned up the music, but it were gonna take a lot more than a tune to keep this lad from churning.
We got to the Wheatsheaf. I left Baz in the bar, went through to the lounge and saw me dad. He were in his usual place, right up against the window. He had a pint of the black and he were smoking. His old mates all around the place.
Little Frank were crooning out summat about a daft tart called Kathleen. The fuckin’ Irish, man, get ‘em drunk enough and they’ll sing any old shite. Dad liked the bloke, but I knew for a fact Frank liked to cut off cats’ heads and leave ‘em in people’s cars as a joke. Yeah, he were sick in the fuckin’ head, you ask me. Lad should’ve been banged up a long time ago.
But that weren’t what I’d come for. I went right up to me dad and stood in front of his table and said, “I thought you said we was keeping this in the family.’
Dad looked up at us like I were shite. ‘I’m not talking about this.’
‘You said we was keeping this schtum.’
‘We are.’
‘So what’s this about me going to see Innes?’
‘You’re going to see him.’ Dad screwed his Rothmans into the ashtray and lit another one, sucked half of it down with one draw.
‘How’s that keeping it in the fuckin’ family?’ I said.
He pointed at me with his ciggie. ‘Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Mo. Sit down and show a bit of respect.’
I looked around. People was staring. I wanted to knock a hole in their fuckin’ heads. But I didn’t. I sat down, said: “I thought I were taking care of this.’
‘I never said that. That’s not going to happen.’
‘You promised.’
“I promised nowt. You go sniffing about with your scally mates in tow, you’ll fuck it up.’
‘Dad ‘
‘Don’t “Dad” me, you little prick. Do as you’re told. You go round there tomorrow and you tell Innes I want a word.
That’s all you do. You don’t tell him nowt about this, you don’t say a fuckin’ word, else I’ll knock you sideways, you hear me?’
Wanted to tell him to show a bit of respect. Felt my left eye twitch and sting. Shook it out. ‘Dad, he’s a fuckin’ pisshead. You want someone you can trust, know what I mean?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I want someone I can trust. So do as you’re fuckin’ told.’
I had plenty I wanted to say; it were boiled up in my head.
But I had to swallow it back. I stood up, left the lounge bar and slammed the door as Little Frank went into another song about Galway Bay.
Baz saw us and went, ‘Y’alright?’
‘Nah, mate,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty fuckin’ far from alright, know what I mean?’
‘Uh,’ he said.
‘Get us a Kronie.’
Baz got the landlord over – a fat lad called Brian – and told him what I wanted.
‘Get us a brandy, too,’ I said. And walked away from the bar. Slumped behind a table and stuck me hand in me pocket, felt for a couple vallies. Head spinning, and it’d take too long for the beer and brandy to kick in. I needed a helping hand. I popped the vallies and chased them down with the brandy Baz brought over.
Dad were Dad, like. I weren’t about to argue with him, even though I wanted to. He said jump, you fuckin’ jumped even if you was family. Used to be, he’d brought me up like I was his only, even after me mam fucked off. But these days, there were summat worn, summat frayed at the edges. Like he were itching to knock me on me arse. And there were nowt worse than getting floored by your own father.
