With Love and Squalor Page 7
“No school?”
“Excluded.” It was plausible enough.
“Nobody phoned.”
“Well they would’ve excluded me if I’d stayed. I just saved them the bother.”
Now they were even. It was the way things worked - they either scratched each other’s backs or blackmailed each other into submission.
“You should change,” she told him.
“And you should get some peas from the freezer for that face of yours.”
Kissing her forehead, he headed upstairs taking them two at a time.
***
A sleep and a change of gear revived Jimmy and he was ready for some action.
First off, he needed a smoke, only he was clean out.
He headed over to Nan Ramsay’s. See if he could cut a deal. Might even bump into Kris while he was there, make him feel uncomfortable about hitting Kylie like that.
He chapped on the door and waited.
Jimmy never understood why her house was in such a state. Here they were, on the rob for years, yet their home looked like it was waiting for someone to put it out of its misery.
Kris opened up and stood stripped to the waist, revealing a stretched stomach and the undulations of his ribs. A tattoo of barbed wire started at his shoulders and coiled around his torso until it disappeared beneath his boxer shorts.
Jimmy wasn’t sure what to say. “Out of my way, you lanky fucker,” came to mind. “Nan in?” worked better.
“Back garden,” Kris told him, scratching his armpit.
Jimmy stepped forward to go through and Kris blocked his way. “Password?”
“Give me a break.”
Kris leant out of the way and Jimmy walked through. Got a kick up the arse along the way. He stumbled forward and kept going.
Nan Ramsay was sitting in the middle of the patio in a deck chair.
The garden shed in the corner was missing a roof and a window and weeds grew up between the patio slabs. They weren’t about to win ‘Tranent In Bloom’, that was for sure.
Nan saw Jimmy coming and pulled the oxygen mask from her face.
“I need it more in the summer,” she said. “The rapeseed brings my hay fever on something chronic.” Placing the mask on the table she reached over, took a cigarette from her pack and lit it, ignoring the no-smoking symbols on her machine.
Jimmy was pleased to see she’d put her teeth in. The last few times he’d been over he’d barely understood a word she’d said.
Jimmy took a fag from her packed and lit it with a match. He loved the way the smoke kicked at the back of his throat and made his head feel like it was about to float away.
“Twenty pence,” Nan said.
“Aw, come on. We’re practically family.”
She laughed and coughed. It came from deep inside her chest, a raw, rasping sound that made Jimmy wince. After spitting a lump of brown phlegm onto the floor, she took a tissue and wiped her mouth.
From his pocket he took out his fifty pence and put it in front of her.
Nan took two more fags from the box and passed them over.
Jimmy rolled them back across the table. It may have been the going rate, but having to put up with Kris sniffing round Kylie had to be worth something.
“How do you reckon you deserve more, laddie?”
“Cos I’m special. Cos I’m your favourite customer.”
Nan took a couple of cigarettes from the packet and added them to the others, took the money and slipped it into the pocket of her tabard. Pulling the elastic strap over her head, she poked the two small tubes back up her nostrils and replaced the mask over her mouth. Negotiations were over.
Picking up the fags, he thanked her and went back indoors.
Kris blocked his way again. This time he was staring into the mirror and squeezing a pluke on his chin. Without looking at Jimmy, he straightened up, took a packet of ten Regal Kings from the ledge and handed them over.
Jimmy held them for a moment as if trying to estimate their weight. As he walked towards the door he reached through the banisters, put the packet on the stairs and left.
***
Walking down through the new houses, Jimmy sensed the curtains twitching on both sides of the street.
The buildings here looked about the same size as the council properties if you didn’t count the double garages and bricked driveways. Jimmy couldn’t see what all the fuss had been about. Sure, none of the windows were smashed or boarded up, but it didn’t make sense that they were worth three times the houses on the other side of the Wynd. The builders hadn’t even put in proper pavements for people to walk on, for god’s sake.
Jimmy despised the people in this part of town. Never saw them on the High Street or hanging around. Must have had better things to do and more money to do it with. He spat on the floor as the thoughts corroded his mind.
At Church Row, he ducked under the fence and descended into the cutting at the Heugh. He had a look around. Made sure there were no police or social workers about.
A couple of his mates were already hanging out.
Viz, Charlie and Craig were gathered round a wheelie bin. Jimmy could see that they’d already started.
Craig stood, lifted the lid and stuck his head right in. The smoke rushed out and filled the air with the acrid smell of burning plastic. Craig rocked back on his heals and fell back into a sitting position, his head resting on his arms.
Viz did the same, only his head stayed in for longer. This time it looked like they were sending out smoke signals to the town.
When Viz emerged he was laughing like a hyena on dope.
“How’s it going,” Charlie asked as Jimmy joined them.
“Going away,” Jimmy said and they all touched knuckles. He looked round again to make sure they were in the clear. Anyone caught them and they were in deep shit.
“Fancy a shot?”
“Nah. Last time he tried he had an attack. His inhaler wasn’t strong enough. Had to call an ambulance to take him to Sick Kids. “No good for my asthma.”
While his friends smoked from the bin, Jimmy puffed on cigarettes and joints.
Pretty soon they’d all disappeared into their own little worlds. Every so often one of them would burst into laughter. The others would follow suit as if sharing a hilarious telepathic joke.
Another half an hour later, when the rain began to fall, the gang decided it was time to call it a day.
Craig, Viz and Charie headed to meet up with their mates outside school.
Jimmy decided to go over to old Mrs Lorimer’s to do some of the gardening. Might as well get an hour of his Community Service crossed off as anything else. He’d still have plenty of time to get cleaned up before the football.
***
Jimmy saw a ball lying at the side of the path in a mesh of brambles. Was thinking about the evening’s match, booted the ball clear and lifted it up with his toe for a bit of keepie upie. Left foot, right foot, right knee, left. Down to the right foot and up in the air for a header. “Lie forritt, Hibees,” he shouted.
He hadn’t expected opposition, but there it was, some enormous hound flying up to his face. Before he could do anything it had his skin.
He felt sharp points rip into his flesh. Was surprised that it didn’t hurt.
Next he knew he was lying on the floor unable to breathe under the huge weight that was pressing on his chest.
The hound tore into his cheek and gave accompanying, slobbering growls.
Jimmy felt his mind drift.
It took him to many places, but he couldn’t get a hold in any of them, like he was a balloon lost at a fair and trying to get down to its owner only floating further and further away.
“Oi. Lay off him, Count.” Jimmy knew the voice. Kris’ brother Mikey for Christ’s sake. His voice coming from somewhere close. Sounded like an echo. Jimmy couldn’t open his eyes. Just lay there listening.
The weight moved from Jimmy immediately. He opened his eyes for a moment and
saw the huge dog lying down, its tongue lolling out, Jimmy’s own blood on its fangs.
It stood, walked casually to the ball, picked it between his jaws and dropped it at Mikey’s feet. Jimmy’s eyes closed again. He felt hands frisking his body and reaching into his pockets.
Next he knew his inhaler was being forced between his lips. He felt the spray go down into his lungs. Amidst all the action, he’d forgotten about breathing. Now he moved his chest, in out, in out. Counted to three. Did it again.
Felt his phone taken from the side pocket of his combats.
“Ambulance,” he heard Mikey say, then everything went dark.
He was a balloon again, passing the moon and the stars and headed out for the edge of the universe.
Thanks
I'd like to thank the following for their help and encouragement:
JT Linroos for the cover
the blasted heathens over at www.blastedheath.com for their work and for their cover sale
the folk at Crimespree Magazine and The Reader Magazine for starting the journey off
Maxim Jakubowski over at Mammoth for his tireless efforts on behalf of so many writers
Les Edgerton for the great review of Smoke and the tag line for this collection
everyone involved in A Twist Of Noir, Apollo's Lyre, All Due Respect, Voluted Tales, Crimespree, Crime Factory, Pulp Metal for all their hard work and for giving my confidence huge boosts by chosing my stories
to Christopher Grant for sending my name through for the Pushcart Prize
to Absolutely Kate for the pancakes and for November
to Snubnose Press for Speedloader and everything since
to J.D. Salinger for the title
for the John Kenyon, Luca Veste and Paul D Brazill for including me in forthcoming anthologies
to all the folk at crimefic writers for their editing suggestions
to AJ Hayes and Allan Guthrie
to readers everywhere
everyone who's taken time to review my work
and Chris Rhatigan and Steve Weddle for doing such an amazing job with Pulp Ink.
All material contained herein © Nigel Bird 2009 – 2011. All rights reserved.
Cover design by JT Lindroos
Photo by photojenni
The stories contained here are works of fiction. All names of characters, places or incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
a Sea Minor Publication
© 2011