hands still up in air -
Craven stood there in centre of room, shit running out of his ear, his mate Dougie crawling towards bog in his own blood -
Paul on his back, eyes opening and closing, dying -
Boss man Derek Box already there -
Dead.
‘Fuck,’ BJ say, thinking -
Over to Derek and open his jacket and take out his wallet, have his watch and rings for good measure -
Paul still whistling air, BJ take his money and his watch -
‘Cunt,’ he hisses.
‘Shoosh,’ BJ spit back -
Then sirens, BJ can hear sirens -
BJ leave him pennies and BJ say to Grace: ‘We got to get out of here, love.’
But she’s still all shock and screams, blood on her blouse and blood in hair -
‘Come on!’ BJ yell. ‘They’re going to be here any fucking second.’
She doesn’t move.
‘You don’t want to be here.’
Behind bar to give her a shake but it’s no fucking use so BJ grab night’s takings from till, shouting in her face: ‘They’ll kill us all!’
Nothing -
BJ slap her -
Tyres and brakes and car doors outside -
BJ jump bar -
BJ can’t go out front, BJ have to take back -
‘Grace!’ BJ shout for last fucking time. ‘Come on!’
But she doesn’t fucking move -
Fuck her.
BJ head down passage and push open back door, hit night and stone steps running when BJ hear:
BANG!
Sound of another shotgun -
Down stone steps, bottom of stone steps when BJ hear another:
BANG!
Another gun -
Across empty car park, crouching and running through puddles of rain water and oil, out back way then flat in a doorway as police car circles past, ducking over road and down side of bus station, thinking what the -
Fuck BJ going to do now?
Through shadows of deserted bus station, into coach station when thank -
BJ see it -
See it standing there, all lit up in silver and lit up in gold:
A coach.
Panting, BJ ask driver: ‘You running?’
‘About six bloody hours behind.’
‘Where you going?’
‘Preston via Bradford and Manchester.’
‘When you leaving?’
‘Now.’
‘How much?’
‘Ticket office is closed,’ he winks.
BJ smile: ‘So how much you want?’
‘Tenner?’
‘Done,’ BJ say and hand him a stolen bloody note.
‘A Merry Christmas to you too,’ he says.
BJ get on and head for back seat.
Two other folk; one sleeping and other pissed off.
BJ take back seat and get BJ’s head down.
Coach pulls out of station but heads back into Bullring -
Towards Strafford.
BJ want to look but BJ dare not.
Coach slows -
Driver opens door -
‘What’s going on?’
‘Been a shooting,’ comes copper’s voice.
‘Shooting?’
‘Strafford Arms.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Looks like a robbery.’
‘Robbery?’ repeats driver with his stolen tenner burning a hole in his unwashed pocket and his jelly heart -
‘You’ll have to go down Springs,’ says copper.
‘Will do,’ says driver.
‘Some bloody Christmas,’ says copper.
‘Aye,’ says driver. ‘Hope you catch the bastard.’
‘We will,’ says copper. ‘We always do.’
Driver closes door and coach turns left and heads down Springs and out of Wakefield, snaking its way through Dewsbury and Batley into Bradford -
Sat on back seat, BJ suddenly shaking and crying and BJ can’t stop shaking and crying because of all things BJ seen and all things BJ done, things they’ve made BJ see and things they’ve made BJ do, all those fucking things they’ve made BJ do and BJ thinking of Grace and BJ shaking and crying because BJ know what they’ll have done to her and what they’re going to do to BJ, all people they’ve killed and all people they’re going to have to fucking kill, and BJ know BJ should have done it right, should have done bloody lot of them because now BJ be truly -
Fucked forever.
When he pulls into Bradford Bus Station, driver comes up to back.
