Jimmy

 

Joe slept soundly, all snuggled up in blankets in the back of Eddie's van. Jimmy tipped the carry seat backwards and forwards as he worked.

"Two cans of Stella and a cheese and onion," the next in line shouted. Everyone seemed to want their drinks at the same time as they waited for the two sets of brothers and their dogs to arrive.

There had been spectators all day for the show fights put on to whet the appetite for the main event.

With the tournament reaching its climax, the place was packed.

Tobacco smoke and the sweet smell of dope filled space like dry ice while the banter filled the air with buzz.

Jimmy picked out the beer and the crisps and left them on the counter. "£6."

The old guy passed over a tenner and let his hand hover in wait for the change. Like just about everyone else, he stared at Jimmy's mask as if he was looking at a sideshow freak. "Daylight bloody robbery," he moaned as the coins were dropped into the palm of his fingerless gloves.

"Next," Jimmy said, ignoring the comment.

"Four Stella and twenty Malboro." Mr McCloud from the corner shop leant in close enough for Jimmy to smell his stale breath. His Mr Magoo glasses made him look like a pervert, but he was a nice guy. "Found Kylie?"

"Nah," Jimmy told him. "Not a sign." Two days and there hadn't been as much as a whisper on the street. Jimmy hadn't slept a wink, what with the stress and Joe seeming to try his best to emulate a police siren as soon as the lights went out.

"She'll be fine, son," McCloud told him. "You know how teenage girls can be."

"Aye," Jimmy nodded, but he didn't. "On the house," he said to the old man and turned away so nobody would see the tears.

He climbed over the seat, opened the door and climbed out.

Sat down on the floor and took out a cigarette, lit it and took a deep drag. His head felt heavy and he let it drop into his hands.

"Get your arse back in here." Eddie didn't sound happy.

"Fag break," Jimmy muttered down to his feet.

"I said move your arse."

"Fuck off." This time he spoke loud and clear. "Fuck you." There weren't many around that could say that to Eddie and get away with it.

Eddie took the tea-towel that was draped over his shoulder and threw it into Jimmy's face. It smelled of stale beer and spoiled milk.

He stood up ready to get back in, but before he had to do anything, there was a burst of feedback from the speakers on top of the van as they blasted out the theme tune to Rocky.

The queue dispersed immediately as its members disappeared back into a crowd which cheered and booed as one schizophrenic mass.

The McMerrys entered dressed in satin cloaks, tartan scarves tied round their wrists and cardboard crowns upon their heads. They clenched their fists and raised them into the air, slapped the hands of their supporters as they moved towards the ring.

The tattoos on their forearms looked worn and old, but the arms themselves were the size of a cyclist's thighs.

The dog in between them strained at the lead. Mojo was its name. Seemed to know exactly what was going on. Didn't look like much, Jimmy thought. Sleek black. Ripped ear. The flat face of a bulldog. But he'd taken the Count out without breaking sweat. Reminded Jimmy of all the hard cases in town – nothing special to the eye, but crazy-mad fuckers as soon as anyone rattled their cages.

During the semi-final, Jimmy had cheered Mojo all the way as he'd torn the Count's flesh in a 'death of a thousand cuts' kind of way. The scars had tingled under his mask at every bite, each sending a satisfying pulse of revenge through his body.

It was going to be the same for the final, Jimmy knew. The creature who'd fucked up Count was Jimmy's friend for life.

Eddie closed the windows of the van and changed the CD in the drive.

'We Are The Champions'. It was Mikey's choice.

'No time for losers.'

It was hard to believe that a couple of narrow-minded thugs like them had picked a song by a gay man fronting a band called Queen.

Mikey and Kris hadn't bothered to change for the big night. Just a pair of lads looking like they might be off for a jog or a game of footie with their mates. They were beaming.

Leo walked between them, but it wasn't the Leo Jimmy was used to.

He was lethargic. Dull around the eyes. Ignoring the people to either side of him. Like he'd been forced to smoke a spliff to prepare for the fight or had been looking after a litter of wailing pups for a couple of days.

Whatever it was, Jimmy liked the way things were shaping up. A win for Mojo and the Ramsays were screwed. No way they'd have the prize-money to dish out when things were over.

"That's better lad," Eddie said, giving him a nudge. "Nice to see some colour back in your cheek."

"Cheeks," Jimmy reminded him. "I've still got two, ken?"

"Aye, well I'd be putting on a bet if I were you."

Jimmy wasn't going to waste his money. Didn't need to.

Before heading over to the bookies, Eddie leant over. Put his mouth right next his ear. "Feel bad, mate. Cannae have you going around like this."

Jimmy felt Eddie's hand reaching into his trouser pocket. Knew he wasn't touching him up. Thought he might be offering him a little light relief – a couple of downers to get him off to sleep. That kind of thing.

Then Eddie spoke again. "You tell anyone it was me and I'll have to kill you." After patting Jimmy's shoulder he moved away as if they'd been discussing the weather.

Jimmy reached into his pocket. Was disappointed to find nothing other than a piece of paper.

The light wasn't good, but he could make out that there was something written on it.

"Fuck it." He gritted his teeth. Almost screwed it up and threw it to the ground.

Instead he forced himself to break the words down.

"Kylie." He knew that by sight. Second letter he ever recognised was a 'K'. Just seeing her name made his heart race.

"C-ow, cow." Ms Turner would have been proud of him. "Sh-e-d, shed. Ro-Ross F-ar-m. Go s-oo-n as it is O-v-e-r."

Read it again just to make sure.

"Fucking A."

He climbed into the van and shoved the paper back into his pocket. A quick check of what was going on and he saw that all attention was on the ring, the two sets of brothers play-sparring to add a little fuel to the fire.

He bent down to Joe and kissed him gently on the cheek, then took out his phone to give his dad a call.

***

If there were two harder dogs on the planet, Jimmy wouldn't want to bump into them.

Three quarters of an hour they'd been at it, holding on to each other like vices.

Soon as they were split, they rammed back into each other like they were drawn together by magnets. Jimmy had seen less action riding the bumper cars.

Leo had snapped out of his stupor. It was impossible to tell whether it was his instincts that had brought him around or Mojo's sniping teeth. Whatever it was, it was making for the grand final everyone had been hoping for.

The dogs were pulled apart again.

Mikey took hold of Leo, rubbed at his chest and said something into his ear.

Tim Mcmerry took hold of Mojo by the scruff, lifted him off his feet and shook him about a bit. Gave him a hard tap at the end of his nose.

They both let go and the dogs rammed each other like they had a death wish.

***

The dogs kept at it for ten minutes. They had to be admired for their courage and their unwillingness to accept defeat. Jimmy thought he might learn something from them. Use them as inspiration whenever he was in a jam.

Mojo had Leo pinned down. His jaws had him around the top of the foreleg, were embedded deeply into the mass of muscle they found there.

Leo was doing his best, awkwardly twisting his neck to snap and nip at his attacker, using his back legs to push into Mojo's body weight.

It was as if they both knew their physiology, understood that the throat was the key to it all. Mojo, rolls of skin and fur in his mouth, inched ever closer to his target. Leo wriggled and pushed, trying to defend the softness under his muzzle at all costs.

The Ramsays must have known it was almost over. That little short of a miracle was going to turn the tables. That they were in deeper shit than they'd ever found themselves in before – had they been standing in the mess, it would have been rising slowly over their shoulders, touching their chins and about to trickle its way beyond their lips to the back of their throats.

Mikey's face was all concern. He kept looking over to Kris like he wanted to throw in the towel. Permission never came.

There was something disturbing about Kris' expression. To Jimmy it looked as if all the skin had been pulled tight on his face. Gave him the look of a skeleton on the warpath, gritted teeth and darkness where the eyes should have been.

The skull kept shaking.

"No," Kris growled through straight, thin lips.

Mikey stood up. Looked like he was about to cry. He took his brother by the arm.

Kris pulled it away, ripping himself from the grip. Pushed Mikey back towards his place behind the line.

In the ring, Mojo's teeth moved closer to Leo's throat. A few more seconds and it would be over.

The crowd was baying for the final scene, urging the fangs on their way whether they were about to win money or not. It's what they were there for. The thrill of the kill.

Mikey seemed to be the only one unaffected by the group's hunger. He stepped quickly into the ring, pulled the dogs apart and gave Leo a line to life.

Mojo wanted more. Strained against Mikey's grip to get his reward.

Took Tim McMerry to help to get him off completely.

And it was over.

The McMerrys came together. Held Mojo high. Allowed their beast to take the applause of the crowd, to milk their appreciation for all it was worth.

Tim and Ray were screaming at the top of their voices, the veins in their necks pulsing underneath their red and wrinkled skin.

Only Jimmy seemed to notice what was happening, Leo lying exhausted on the floor with Mikey on his knees stroking and whispering and urging him onto his feet. One tender moment in a world of violence.

Kris kicked the wall, paced up and down for a couple of laps then jumped into the ring.

He pushed his brother out of the way, reached under his top into the waistband of his trousers and fumbled his first attempt to pull out a gun.

Mikey tried to get between Kris and his dog. Foot slipped in a pool of blood and he ended up doing the splits.

Kris pulled out the pistol at the second attempt.

Pointed at Leo and pulled the trigger.

Five shots rang out.

The dog only twitched once.

When the bullets were spent, Kris planted his trainer into Leo's belly, snorted up through his nostrils and spat wet and green onto the mess that he'd left on the ground.

Mikey burst into tears. Picked up Leo's head and laid it on his lap. He stroked the ears back and forth until his fingers were completely red.

"Guess I've got your attention," Kris said to the staring crowd, rubbing his temples and seeming to regain control of things. "Gentlemen, we have a winner." He opened his arm out in Mojo's direction. "Let's hear it for Mojo and Tim and Ray McMerry."

The audience applauded and stamped their feet.

Mikey stood up and lunged at his brother.

Same thing happened with the pool of blood. He ended up sitting on his arse in front of practically everyone he knew. Instead of trying again, he stayed where he was.

Jimmy could hardly believe his luck. Not only had the boys lost the tournament, but they were making complete fools of themselves. And the best was yet to come.

***

"Fucking hell, Tim," Kris shouted, "Get this nutter away frae me."

Ray hadn't taken the news that they didn't have the prize-money well. His fists pounded Kris like enormous hailstones. Tim was struggling to pull his brother away. Might as well have been trying to turn back the waves in the sea.

Jimmy stood back watching. Couldn't hold back his smiles. He needed to go and meet his dad outside, but couldn't resist the urge to watch this finale.

"I'll get him off you as soon as you give us the cunting money," Tim said.

"We huvenae got it." Kris dodged a fist. "Security risk." The next punch landed. Sent him sprawling.

Tim didn't seem to like what he was hearing. Lifted his leg and gave Kris a boot into the stomach. "Security? You don't get safer hands than ours, pal."

The old Irish guy, Pat, stepped forward and stood in between the warring factions.

"Am I right in thinking you can't pay up right here?" He looked at Mikey and then down to Kris.

Kris pushed himself onto his feet and felt around his mouth. "Spot on."

"And you say you have it at home?"

"Yeah."

This time he turned to the McMerrys. "How about they leave tonight's takings as a deposit. Would you be happy giving these boys half an hour to get the cash down here?"

Ray and Tim looked at each other, their expressions giving nothing away. And then they nodded simultaneously.

"Half an hour," Ray said looking at his watch.

Jimmy had seen enough. He picked up the handle of Joe's carry-seat and slipped off through the side door to find his sister.

***

In all the years that Jimmy's dad had owned the Capri, he'd never once taken it out of the drive. Spent time under the bonnet and the chassis, weekends sorting out rust, days sourcing parts to keep its authenticity. Had never once been out for a spin.

It would to look great once they painted it, but just now it looked like it had been stolen from the scrappy.

Jimmy could hardly believe his eyes.

There was Bert Hook, a man that until a year before had always seemed oblivious to the world, leaning back onto the passenger door of his car and smoking a cigarette like some teddy boy from yesteryear.

His grey hair was slicked back the way it was in the photos of his wedding and he was wearing the suit that went with it.

"Dad. Jesus Christ. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Bert opened the door. Jimmy belted Joe into the back and took his seat in the front.

The engine started with a low rumble, a sexy hum that would have turned heads on the High Street.

"Well?" Bert asked.

"Well what?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you should be putting your foot down."

"I mean of the engine. What do you think?"

Jimmy took a moment. It wasn't the sort of time to get things wrong. "Purrs like a tiger cub, Dad."

Bert smiled, shifted the tiny gear-stick into first and let out the clutch.

Jimmy loved the screech. Pictured the trail of rubber and smoke they'd left behind.

***

The old cow sheds had been half-heartedly done up at some point – the farmer's wife had probably watched a few too many property programmes of an evening and made her husband give it a go.

The roof was new and the whole place looked weather-proof, but there was plenty left to sort.

Jimmy took a look through one of the panes of glass in the door.

"Can't see a bloody thing," he said.

"Either she's in there or she's not," Bert said and shoved his elbow through the window. He picked out a couple of triangles from the frame, squeezed his hand inside the panel, fumbled round for a while and clicked the door open. "If she's not, I'll…"

Jimmy never got to find out what might happen if he'd been wrong.

There was a high-pitched wail of desperation coming from inside.

Bert was in there like it was what he'd been waiting to do all his life. Looked ten years younger than the man Jimmy was used to – twenty even.

They didn't have far to go to find her. Second room on the left, a wall of breeze blocks un-plastered and unloved with a temporary door made out of chipboard.

The sobs got louder as they approached and excruciating when they actually got to her.

Kylie lay on the floor tied to a chair.

Jimmy hardly recognised her. One side of her face lay in a pile of creamy vomit, the other was covered with a red-raw blister that looked like it had been growing there for years. Her hair looked weird, too. Long strands of it were spread out in the puke on the ground, yet on the other side it looked like it had been cropped close by a an arthritic gardener with a set of hedge-clippers.

He was full of admiration for his dad, the way he got stuck in. Didn't bat an eyelid when it came to picking her out of the fluids, the huge spades at the ends of his arms scooping his daughter and the chair into an embrace Jimmy had never seen the like of.

Bert looked at her, tenderly brushed the hair from her face and pulled her close again.

When he took out the gag from her mouth, the noise started again. This time it sounded like a word. "Dad," she seemed to say over and over like an automated response, but it could easily have been any three letter word the way it came out.

Then Jimmy saw her fingers. Until that point, he'd been OK with things.

There were two missing on her left hand, so he checked the right. It was the thumb they'd gone for on that one.

Bastards.

Clean cuts they were.

Short stumps covered in black crusts of blood protruded from her hands where her digits should have been.

Jimmy looked onto the floor and saw the bits she was missing.

Unlike his dad, he didn't just dive in.

He looked around to see what he could use.

There were empty beer cans, oil lamps and candles, a couple of porn mags and piles of old junk.

He decided on the porn.

Ripping out a couple of centrefolds, he bent down and used the paper to pick up the fingers and thumb.

He was no expert, but it might not be too late.

He imagined the faces of the doctors when they unwrapped the packages, saw the spread-legged, nipple-licking models. Jimmy smiled.

Bert saw it and swung out his leg.

An almighty crack down at Jimmy's shin was followed by a burst of red hot pain.

Jimmy dropped what he was holding and hobbled tentatively round the room.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he ranted, but nobody paid him any attention. "Not the fucking steelies, Dad. Fuck." It was true that steel toe caps on a boot were a weapon not to be messed with. Made a joke of the training shoes everyone wore these days. Maybe the younger generation were going soft like all the older guys said.

His dad still hadn't spoken. He ripped off the tape around Kylies limbs, threw the chair down and headed out of the room.

All Jimmy could do was pick up his little packages, stuff them in his pockets and limp out after him.

***

Bar the hum of the engine, all was silent in the Capri.

Bert wasn't messing around. He was handling corners and gears like a racing-driver, screeching left and right, throwing on the handbrake for the really tight turns.

Jimmy had told him about Eddie giving him the note and had dropped the Ramsays in it. He didn't mention that he'd taken the money in the first place — one lump on the shin was more than enough pain for one night.

Half way up the hill on the way back to the estate they saw them.

Kris was walking ahead at a fair speed, his little brother following with his head down and covered in blood.

Bert gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He looked into the back where Joe and Kylie were crammed together on the tiny back seat.

Saliva dribbled from the corners of Kylie's mouth and the streaks of black eye make-up made her look like she'd turned Goth.

Jimmy felt the car accelerate.

When they got to Mikey and Kris, Bert rammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt a couple of yards ahead of them.

Bert was out in a flash. Had the boot open and was taking something out by the time Jimmy's feet touched the pavement.

Kris was on them before there was time to plan. He crouched low and whipped round a leg. His foot connected with the side of Bert's head. It was as if Bert were made of stone. He didn't move, just carried on rummaging.

Punches came next, to the body and the head. Same result. Nothing.

With Bert and Kris paired up, Jimmy went for Mikey.

They squared up to each other, but it was no contest, not even with Mikey's hand in a cast.

One, two, three the punches came. Knocked Jimmy over like the fly-weight he was.

Mikey was straight over to help his brother.

Jimmy watched from the floor.

His dad seemed to have coped with one, but two Ramsays would be hard to handle.

Bert emerged from the car boot wielding a chain.

He swung it around his head once to gain momentum and then went for Mikey who was still running his way.

The chain and Mikey met like long-parted lovers.

There was a heavy crunch, some musical notes as the links rubbed together. Mikey fell to the ground as if the bones had been filleted from his body.

A couple of teeth landed next to Jimmy.

The rest of Mikey lay in a twisted heap. His eyes were rolled up inside their sockets, just their whites and their veins showing.

Bert was a raging red. He was either going to have a heart attack or a couple of corpses to his name before the night was over.

Kris pulled out the pistol. Pointed it at Bert and pulled the trigger.

Click, click, click was all it managed.

The clicks were followed by the musical notes of the chain and the sound of a cheek bone cracking.

Kris was down and out for the count.

Bert picked Kris up by an ankle and dragged him over to the back of the car. Fished something out of the boot and then wrapped the chain around Kris' leg.

Snapping a padlock, he had him ready.

Did the same for Mikey. Looped the other end of the same chain around his ankle so that the pair looked like a couple of old-time crooks in transportation.

Jimmy understood what was about to happen.

His dad's draggings were legendary on the street. Had a nostalgia to them that gave Jimmy a warm glow when they were spoken of. A sense of pride.

All the same, Jimmy couldn't let it happen again. Couldn't take the chance of seeing his father going to prison.

Jimmy pushed himself to his feet and ran over.

His dad was lifting the chain to the bumper.

"Don't be daft," Jimmy shouted as he stood between him and the car. "They'll put you away. Kylie needs to get to the hospital, Dad. Give them a chance to put these back on." Jimmy dipped into his pocket and took out one of the packages. "She'll need her fingers Dad. She will."

Bert's body slackened. He looked around and then down at his hands like he'd never seen them before.

"Dad. You need to get Kylie to a hospital." It was the first time Jimmy could remember needing something from his father. Just this one thing. "I can call an ambulance. Please."

"No ambulance. I'll get there quicker." It was true. A driver on a mission would beat an ambulance that had to come out from Edinburgh any day. "You'll have to take the wee fellow."

It made sense, Jimmy knew. He'd take Joe home, sort him out again. Keep him safe till his sister was well. He could do it. Do it all.

Jimmy took the car seat out, gave Kris a kick in the ribs and walked away. Waved as his dad sped off in the direction of the hospital.

As the rumble of the Capri faded, it was replaced by the sound of a different kind of engine altogether, the loud chug of a diesel motor.

It was the Mcmerrys', their van slowing down. The two big men were rubber-necking to see who was lying on the ground. Must have seen the Ramsays lying there. Brought the van to a halt.

Jimmy carried Joe into the bushes at the side of the road and watched the McMerrys get out of the van.

Without Bert there, Jimmy felt exposed. Stripped of his strength, like Samson after a number 1.

Then Joe woke up. Screamed out loud.

Jimmy tried the dummy, then the rattle. No joy.

The McMerrys must have heard, but they didn't look his way.

Just walked over to the Ramsays.

Mikey's arms moved. Pushed him up. Tim Ramsay went over and kicked him over again.

Joe was still bawling. Needed his mother, poor wee tyke. Jimmy shoved his little finger into his mouth like he'd seen Kylie do to see if he was hungry. Sucked on the thing like a carp, he did.

When he got to check the action again, Kris was being hauled to his feet, Ray lifting him by the shirt. "Drugs? What the fuck am I gonnae do with a load of fucking drugs? Hear that Tim?"

"Aye."

"Youse two need teaching a lesson, you ask me."

"And guess who's got a degree from the school ae hard knocks."

For a moment Jimmy almost felt sorry for the Ramsays as they were picked up and thrown into the back of the van like a couple of rubbish bags. Then Joe started to cry again.

"Family park?" Ray asked.

"Aye, Ray. I loves to drive that train."

***

 

It was never going to work out, the four of them under the same roof.

Jimmy loved his family, but there was a limit to how much he could take.

Maybe things would have been different without Kylie's scars. Every time he saw her, looked into her face, it reminded him of his own disfigurement. Made him want to punch himself.

Leaving Joe didn't seem right. Made Jimmy's stomach ache to think about it. He'd practically brought the kid up those past six months and they'd developed a special kind of bond.

Then there was his dad.

They'd never got on better. Talked about everything.

Bert was like a new man. Proud of himself for dragging his way back into the world.

Might have had something to do with finishing off the Capri. It looked fantastic out on the drive with a cherry red body and go-faster stripes.

And he was his own boss at the chip shop now. Or at least until the little fella was twenty-one. Soon as Joe came of age the whole thing would pass on to him. Who'd have credited Carlo with the sense to make out a will? The lease on the chippy, the equipment and all that unused disability benefit all went to Bert. Things couldn't have been better.

Best thing about Jimmy and his dad was the new found respect they'd discovered for each other. Like they'd reached the bottom and bounced back.

But going away had to happen.

School was worse than ever. He was never going to get a grip on his reading and having a face like Quasimodo hadn't done him any favours in the friends department.

Eddie had spent the whole of the summer telling him tales. What it was like when he ran off down to London. Best years of his life he said. The freedom to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And nobody giving a rat's ass about who he was or where he was from.

Which was what Jimmy was going to do.

It was his New Year's resolution and he was going to make it work.

The taxi pulled up outside and beeped its horn.

It could wait – the driver'd be compensated as soon as they got to the station.

Jimmy just needed a minute to say goodbye.

He put three presents down on the table.

They weren't wrapped, but he'd taped the bags they came in.

Joe was getting a Hibs strip with his name on the back. To get him following the green and whites soon as he could.

Kylie was getting a gold bracelet, one of those with half a heart on a chain. Maybe she'd think of him every once in a while.

He'd had to think hard about his dad's. Took him ages to find on the internet. A silver knob for the gear shift of the Capri. A bit of class for the car.

The taxi outside beeped again.

"Just cost yourself a tip," Jimmy said. Tapped the table, picked up his case and the rucksack full of cash and closed the door behind him.

***

"You sure you want the tour?" the driver asked.

"Yep," Jimmy answered.

A tour of Tranent. One final spin around.

Only took five minutes.

The Coalgate, miserable looking as ever in the misty rain and the grey surround.

The store.

The schools.

And the High Street — his dad's fish and chip shop, the McMerrys on the opposite side of the road, the statue of Jackie Crookstone.

Best of all was the bookies. Sitting outside its door were the Ramsays, smoking their cigarettes one-handed and turning their wheelchairs in whichever direction the action came from.