Jimmy

 

The opening bars of 'One Step Beyond' meant only one thing to Jimmy and the kids of Tranent. Ice-cream.

Rock-Steady Eddie's van was a Tranent institution.

Normally the sound of the chimes excited Jimmy. Today, his first time on the streets since the dog attack, he wasn't sure how he felt about anything. Only left the house at all because Kylie needed some company while she went looking for Kris.

The van pulled up into the Co-Op car park, the new paintwork glistening. A Walt Jabsco rude-boy in black and white check on the back had his hat tilted to one side. Jimmy stared at the big bold letters underneath, Eddie's motto 'SKA'D FOR LIFE'. Didn't seem so cool to Jimmy now.

Eddie stepped out of the back door, dressed as always in a dark suit, ironed shirt and a thin, mod tie. He was a small guy but not one to under-estimate in any way. Had been an apprentice jockey for a while, before a fall put paid to his career. "Jimmy Hook. A sight for sore eyes, mate. How're you doing?" He doffed his Pork Pie hat, gave Jimmy a hug then held him at arms length to get a look at him.

Jimmy was wearing his face guard, 'the sort professional footballers use' they'd told him in the hospital. It felt funny to Jimmy, having something on one side of his face and not the other.

Eddie nodded at Jimmy's cheek. "Hurt much?"

Jimmy ran his fingers around the edge of the mask. "Not really."

The McMerrys came over to the van. They wore suits that were all rumpled up, just like the faces of the wearers. Skinheads, the pair of them. Necks too big for their heads, heads too small for their huge bulk. Practically identical they were. Looked like they'd missed out a step or two in the evolutionary chain.

They grunted hellos and carried on to the window.

Eddie got back into the van. Left the door open so that Jimmy could follow him in.

Tim McMerry put his copy of 'the Sun' on the counter.

Eddie went through the motions. "Two oysters, one with raspberry sauce." He sounded more like a cocktail maker than an ice-cream vendor.

Nodding over to Jimmy he spoke quietly. "Let The Right One In."

Jimmy flicked through the DVDs in the box until he found it. He passed it over and watched Eddie slip the disc into the newspaper.

His copies were as good as the real thing. That's why folk kept coming back. That and the fact that they cost three times more in the shops.

"Five quid for the film, two for the ice cream," Eddie told them.

"Your shout, Ray." Tim nudged him with the elbow of his jacket without taking his hands from his pockets.

Ray didn't protest. He took the oysters with one hand and the change with the other, the coins looking like toy money on his palm.

His brother took the paper. They turned to go without saying a word.

"Hang on boys. Got a message." Eddie leaned out of his window.

Taking licks of ice cream in unison with tongues as thick as 8 ounce steaks, they turned and stood waiting. Could get parts in Eastenders no trouble, Jimmy thought.

"From the Ramsays."

The McMerrys looked unimpressed.

"Said you used to know a thing or two about dogs," Eddie went on. "Asked if you old-timers would like to meet the new kids on the block."

"Wankers." Tim wasn't the type to give a shit about young pretenders.

"64 dogs, £1,000 entry, winner takes all. They're calling it the Scottish Open"

Tim looked over at his brother who was watching a seagull and yawning. Jimmy could tell he was interested right away. "Haven't been in the pit for a while."

"You've got a week," Eddie went on, "and there's no footie."

"Doesn't leave much time."

"Kris reckoned you'd bottle it. Said you'd have heard of their dog, Leo."

"Leo?"

"Not even been out yet and they're laying 3-1."

"Crazy kids."

"So what shall I tell them?"

Ray spoke without taking his eyes from the gull. "Tell them we'll be in touch."

The McMerrys sauntered off muttering to each other and up stepped Ryan Mason. Never at school, always peely wally. Bright red sores all the way round his mouth. Standing on tiptoes to get a proper look, he laid a copy of The Beano on the counter.

"Specials of the week," Eddie said in his ringmaster's voice, "Vanilla Sulphate and Hash Cookie Dough."

***

Jimmy couldn't wait to get home. Eddie paid him for the afternoon's work with a copy of 'Deadzone 4' which wasn't due for release for another month.

Kylie was asleep in the living room when he got back, stretched across the sofa with her mouth open, a ring of saliva on the shoulder of her tee shirt between the milk stains and the vomit.

Joe slept in the pram next to her looking angelic and pure.

Dad wouldn't be back from the chip shop for another hour.

It all meant that Jimmy could go up and use Kylie's X-box. His own had been sold the day after he broke into Mrs Lorimer's house, a punishment that seemed way out of line for the crime. He wondered what would have happened if he'd smashed in Sean Mulligan's head.

He kicked off his trainers and ran up the stairs three at a time, set the X-box going and inserted the disc.

The soundtrack was the same as the others, zombie mood music to kill to.

He skipped the intro, selected 'one player' and waited, adrenaline preparing his body for action.

As the game was about to begin, he heard the back door shut and the voices of the Ramsays.

"Let's not wake them for Christ's sake," he heard Kris say.

Jimmy knew they'd be headed his way. Needed to eject the disc and get out of there before they reached the stairs.

With the disc in his hand, he ran to the door and realised he was too late.

Had to find a place to hide and quickly.

Under the bed was all he could think of.

Two pairs of trainers entered the room.

One of them disappeared immediately.

Next thing Jimmy knew the bed frame almost collapsed on top of him. The metal and the floor sandwiched his head for a moment. Did it twice more as the mattress bounced.

An almighty fart ripped into the silence somewhere just above his face.

"Man. Couldn't you have done that on the way up?" Mikey asked.

"And wake the baby? No bloody way."

The odour filtered its way down. An odd mix of sweet roast meat and his dad's homebrew kit. Made Jimmy gag.

"Jeez, man," Mikey said. "If that's what you get when you listen to your dub-step, you can keep it."

"You should have come along," Kris said. "People in Edinburgh, man. They're different. We need to get a place there. Bigger pond, bigger fish."

Sounded good to Jimmy. The sooner the guys got out of town the better. He hated the Ramsays. Hated them for hitting his sister. Hated them for ruining his face with their dog. When he was old enough, big enough, he was going to go after them.

"We'll be able to afford it soon as the Open's over," Mikey said.

"64 grand from the entries alone."

"Reckon we'll double that with the betting."

"Not forgetting ticket sales."

"We'll end up in Morningside with all that dough."

"Aye. Imagine walking right into the solicitors and handing over the cash."

"How the hell will Gran sleep with nothing to hold up her mattress?"

"We'll throw in a load of newspapers when we take the money. She'll hardly know the difference."

It all went quiet for a while. The silence was broken by another of Kris' farts.

"Game of footie?" Kris asked.

"Yeah, load it up. Bags Scotland."

"Bastard."

Jimmy lay under the bed trying to ignore the stench. He heard the X-box loading up, the familiar World Cup theme playing.

His heart pumped hard and his brain ticked away working on a plan that would piss the Ramsays off big time.

***

The first day of the dog-fights and the place was packed.

Working in the van meant Jimmy and Eddie had the best seats in the house. Money was rolling in. Owners handed over entry fees as their dog was introduced.

When Jimmy wasn't serving booze, fags, a bit of the wacky stuff, crisps or ice cream, he was tracking the cash.

The Ramsays threw the money around like it was bags of sweets. Passed it to Roly and Ryan from the Pans who took them out back for Romeo Thirston and Sean Mulligan.

Jimmy presumed it went to Nan Ramsay's from there where it would lie, unattended, under her bed until the payout to the winner.

Mulligan strutted like he ruled the roost, the fucker, his tracky bottoms and his cap dazzling white. Brand new or washed by his mum. How Jimmy would have loved to roll him in dirt. Instead, he did what he had to do and paid attention to what mattered.

Before any fighting took place, each of the entries was put on display.

The dogs, all shapes and sizes, were pure fierce. Had the barn buzzing every time a new one came on parade. Clusters gathered around the bookies when they saw something they liked. It was like Musselburgh races without the horses or the toffs.

"Hold the fort, Jimmy," Eddie said. "Need to get some pennies on." He took off his apron and threw it over the driver's seat.

"Thought you were on Leo." Half of Tranent was backing the Ramsay's dog.

"Sure," he said, "but there's nothing wrong with a little saver on the side. Just don't tell Kris."

"Who you backing?"

"Have to think owners, not dogs." Didn't mean anything to Jimmy. Surely the dogs were doing the fighting. "The Macmerrys know a bit, but the whisper is that the Con brothers are as slippery as lube."

"Put me a tenner on your pick."

"Big spender."

"Call it twenty." Squandering his hard earned cash on those animals defeated the object of being there, even if Eddie was hot shit when it came to a gamble.

It would be a different story when he took the Ramsay's cash, mind.

***

Mikey took his time over washing Leo's opponent. Jimmy admired the way he went about it. There wouldn't be many who could handle a dog so well.

He rubbed the sponge from neck to tail, talking to it all the while, making sure it was completely clean. Brutus it was called. Brutal Brutus.

Behind the other line, a big guy from Belfast gave Leo rougher treatment. His Union Jack tats were faded. Made him look harder than if they shone brand new. On his right hand, dripping with water from the sponge, the letters P-A-T. Maybe he was worried he'd forget his name one day. Somehow he managed to keep his ciggy going all the way through the clean, his head tilted to keep the chimney of smoke from his eyes.

When the dogs were passed back to their owners they bristled, showed their teeth and rolled their eyes.

Jimmy felt his stomach roll.

Mikey and Pat leant into their dogs, spoke right into their ears like they were talking dirty. Drove the animals crazy.

Looked like it took all of the men's strength to hold them at scratch.

And then Kris told them to let them go.

Leo sprang at Brutus.

Brutus sprang right back.

The crunch of bone as they met was like a motorbike smashing into a lorry head on.

Jimmy felt his knees wobble. Had to lean on the counter. Dug his nails into his thumbs.

It was the sound that did it. Or maybe the show of teeth. Felt like he was back in the woods all over again. Fangs and slobber all over his face. Like his life was coming to an end.

His fingers reached for the cheek guard. Made sure it was there. That none of what he imagined was really happening.

"All right mate?" Eddie asked, rubbing his shoulders. "Your money's safe."

The dogs snapped and pawed at each other's skin looking for a hold. Leo got there first. Low down, right by the wind-pipe. All Brutus could do was stare at the barn roof. Didn't whimper once. Kept trying to get out of the hold, swiping with his paw, dipping and arching his back. None of it did any good.

Blood dripped to the floor. Leo's teeth, the ones Jimmy could see, were pink as his gums. Jimmy had seen him working the tyres the day before. Knew he'd never let go.

Then Brutus stopped. Stopped doing anything.

"No more," Pat shouted as he jumped in. Another ciggy stuck to his lip as if it had been glued in place. "No more. Fuck's sake."

"Let him go, Leo." Mikey didn't even have to raise his voice. Leo turned and headed to his owner, jumped up like he'd just collected a stick or something. "Attaboy," Mikey said, rubbing his head and patting his side.

The Irishman's muscles bulged as he picked up his dog. He had hate in his eyes where Jimmy had expected to see regret. Blood, thinned by sweat, trickled onto his forearms as the dog's head lolled, like someone had removed its vertebrae.

He strode over to the metal wall, stepped over it straight-legged and barged through the people he'd been laughing and joking with before the bout.

"Tioch faidh ar lagh," came a voice from the back of the room.

The big man raised an arm, spat out his smoke and lifted his middle finger.

"You sure that was a dog?" a little guy called out as he passed.

Pat turned and stared at him. Didn't say a word. Didn't have to. Everyone could see what he meant.

The little guy stepped back and kept his mouth shut.

***

Jimmy needed to puke.

Eddie gave him a nod and he went outside for some fresh air.

Didn't do any good. He leaned against the wall and hurled his guts up against it. Little splatters of vomit landed on his shoes and trousers, peach coloured like the soup he'd had for his lunch.

He waited for the water to clear from his eyes then stood up.

First thing he saw was Brutus lying in front of an enormous off-roader with its bonnet open. Soon as he was able to focus properly, he saw jump leads. The black was attached to one of the dog's ears, the red to his tail. The cables went up into the engine and Pat stood at the driver's door, leaning in as if trying to get to something.

The ignition sparked the engine. Pat bobbed up and down. Each time he did so, the revs of the motor roared.

The dog practically did a cartwheel. Looked like he'd been given the paddles in a hospital drama.

"Stupid fuckin' animal," Pat was shouting. "After all I did for you, ya cunt." He revved up again and slammed the door shut. "Think I'm made of money, ya mangy beast?" He stomped over to Brutus and looked down for a moment, lifted his leg and hammered the heel of his boot into the dog's head.

There was no more twitching.

"Fuck you looking at?" Pat shouted over at Jimmy. "Want some?"

Jimmy turned his head back to the wall and splattered his trousers a little bit more.

He made sure he didn't look back.

Instead, he watched Thurston and Mulligan dropping off bags into the flatbed they used when they were working.

Still had a pile of scaffolding poles in there.

They turned and went back into the building.

Jimmy sprinted over to the lorry, stepped onto the rear wheel and jumped right into the back. Found a space under the poles that were propped up onto the cab. Lay there waiting for Mulligan to return, as snug as if he'd built himself a little tent in the countryside.