Jig looked over his shoulder as the BMW revved behind him.
‘Just give us the fucking money, or I’ll call him over,’ Jig said, nodding over to the car.
The woman cursed and gave him the wad of cash and the card.
That was the last one, Jig said to himself. He ran back and hopped into the front passenger seat.
‘Got it all,’ he said, giving Cracko the mound of cash. ‘They all gave me shite about leaving them some of their children’s allowance, but I just said they could talk to ya and they handed it over sharpish.’
Cracko held the cash and the cards in his hand, but didn’t bother counting it. Jig could see he was looking at some text on his phone.
‘Fucking bitch,’ Cracko said.
He put the phone away and quickly counted the cash. He took out his little notebook and jotted an amount beside some initials and slotted the cards into a flap at the back of the book.
‘Listen, I need to make a house call,’ he said, driving off. ‘Me moth is at the tanning salon, so I needs ya to watch Seb.’
Jig looked into the back seat. Sunlight flooded through the Ninja Turtles blind and swam over the toddler’s face.
‘Ya still got those tickets?’
Jig looked at Cracko, confused.
‘What?’
But Cracko didn’t reply. Jig knew he didn’t like repeating himself. So he thought about what he said.
Oh yeah, them tickets. Ghost was asking me about them at the match.
‘I still has them in the same place, since before the summer.’
He had put the bags in a neighbour’s shed. The neighbour was old. He hardly ever went out and never into his back garden. Jig only had to hop over the low railing into his garden. He left the bags in there, behind a press.
Ghost had said to him at the game about giving Cracko a hand from time to time. Said it be all part of the money he was putting aside for him, on top of minding the tickets and being his gofer. Ghost said he would be like ‘the credit union’; he’d have his own account and all. Jig imagined big wads of notes in a safe. But Ghost said that first he still had a bit to pay for the old dear. That was the agreement they had. And a man had to keep his word, he said.
Cracko pulled to a halt.
‘Ya able to look after Seb here?’ he said.
Jig shook his head.
No fucking way.
‘Okay, follow me, but don’t touch nothing, don’t do nothing. Just keep an eye on Seb.’
Cracko opened the glove compartment and took out pairs of transparent latex gloves and gave one to Jig. He looked at them, then copied Cracko and slapped them on.
They motioned to get out. Cracko opened the back door and lifted out the car seat. Jig pulled up his hoodie. Cracko strode ahead in his bright white Tottenham FC T-shirt. He carried the car seat in his left hand, his right arm swinging back and forth. His chain jangled under his top.
Jig tried to figure out where they were going. They passed some homes with neat front yards, with trimmed grass and flower pots. Jig spotted a house with a shopping trolley inside the gate, stuffed with bags and bags of rubbish. The windows were smashed in downstairs, the upstairs one was boarded up. Cardboard covered over holes in the glass in the front door. The step at the door had some sort of white paint all over it. It looked dark inside.
Cracko banged on the door with his fist and handed the car seat to Jig. He adjusted his feet at the weight.
A scrawny thing, all grey in the shadows, opened the door slowly. Before she could react, Cracko shoved her back into the little hall. She fell like building blocks, down on her arse. She sat there hunched and braced herself for further violence. Cracko stepped over her. Jig waited till she got up before carrying Seb in.
‘Wait out there,’ Cracko said back to him.
Jig put the car seat down and tried to close the door separating the tiny porch area to the front room, but the top hinge was off and the door wouldn’t quite shut.
The place smelled worse than his gaff. There were bags of stuff in the room and wrappers, foils and cans. The curtains were closed, casting the room in a greyness, apart from a narrow shaft of light running across the middle of the floor.
Jig looked down at a long streak of a guy stretched out on a sofa. His right leg was in a big plaster cast and he had a can of beer in his hand. Jig thought he looked familiar. His mouth looked like someone had reefed it open when he saw Cracko. He tried to pull himself up a bit, but he was monged and couldn’t with the cast.
‘Jaysus, Cracko,’ the woman said, as she followed them in, bent over, ‘he’s just out of James’s.’
Cracko lashed her. The woman grasped her face. Jig backed out of the gap in the door and looked at Seb. He was playing with a little mobile hanging off the seat.
‘He’s out two days,’ Cracko said, pointing at her, ‘so don’t fuck with me.’
There was a creak from the ceiling. Cracko looked out at Jig and nodded at him to go up. The woman motioned to move, but pulled back when Cracko slapped her. She bowed her head like a dog.
‘Go up,’ Cracko said to Jig, ‘and see who’s snooping around.’
Jig ran up the stairs. There was a big black bolt across one of the doors, a noise inside. He heaved on the bolt and pulled it back and pushed open the door. A little boy, about three, with scruffy blonde hair looked out at him. He had nothing on apart from a T-shirt. The boy smiled at Jig.
‘Down,’ Jig said, pointing to the stairs.
Jig watched the boy toddle down and into the front room, stopping still when he saw Cracko.
‘It’s okay, chicken,’ the woman – his ma – said.
‘How’s the leg,’ Cracko said to the man.
‘Bad. Broken in two places.’
‘Yer lucky I left ya with a leg at all,’ Cracko said, his face curling at the edges into a smile. ‘Ya have to pay for that seizure.’
‘Yeah, I knows, Cracko, I knows.’
‘We’re going to sell all these,’ the woman interrupted.
‘So, why haven’t ya?’ Cracko said.
She began to say something, but didn’t. Jig could see her swallowing back down whatever words she had been thinking of.
‘Anyways,’ Cracko said, ‘with the value of that haul, ya want to be shipping this stuff like Argos. Ya dopey bitch.’
Jig wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was getting sticky.
‘But youse know what does be itching me balls more than the money,’ Cracko said, ‘is how did the filth knows about the haul in the first place?’
‘I didn’t fucking tell them nothing,’ said the man. ‘That’s straight up, Cracko. On, on, me son’s life.’
Cracko nodded. He grabbed an unopened can of cider beside the sofa. Pulling back the opener he took a swig, licking small drips on his lower lip. With a little smile he stepped towards the boy.
‘No, leave him,’ the woman said, but was rewarded with a dig into her ribcage.
‘Fancy a little drink?’ Cracko held out the can to the boy.
The boy shook his head and looked over at his ma, his eyes welling up.
‘Here, a swig.’
The boy lowered his eyes and pulled his shoulders tight.
‘I’m telling ya, Cracko,’ said the man, ‘I’d never tell the garda nothing.’
Cracko stretched his hand out and poured the cider onto the boy’s face. The boy coughed and spluttered. Liquid ran down his top and onto his chubby legs.
‘Ah, ya bastard!’ the woman roared, as the boy began to cry.
Cracko elbowed her in the side of her neck. The man tried to pull himself up, but screamed in pain and slumped back down.
‘Christ, Cracko, I swear,’ he said, ‘I said nothing to the filth.’
‘Tell youse what,’ Cracko said, finishing the dregs of the can, ‘make us a cup of tea and we’ll have a chat about it.’
The woman’s eyes darted from Cracko to her fella and even out to Jig in panic. She crawled towards the kitchen, dragging her son with her. Cracko stood in the middle of the room, his thick tattooed arms dangling at his side. He winked over at Jig. From the kitchen came the sound of the kettle.
‘Wash out them cups now,’ Cracko shouted, with a twisted smile. ‘I don’t wants to be catching the virus.’
‘No problem, Cracko, no problem.’
Jig could see the woman swinging around the kitchen, like a hunchback, and heard the noises of cupboards opening and closing. The little boy pattered after her.
The whistle was building.
‘Bring them cups out and I’ll get the kettle,’ Cracko said.
As she came out, with the boy, Cracko went inside. He came back in carrying the kettle, and some sort of cloth.
Jig jumped at a yelp. But it was just Seb playing with his mobile.
Cracko put the kettle on some boxes and grabbed the woman by her hair. She roared. He yanked her closer. She roared louder. Cracko forced a brown rag into her gob. He elbowed her in the back and she slumped forward on her knees.
‘Jaysus, Cracko,’ the man shouted. ‘I fucking didn’t rat. I’m telling ya.’ He forced himself up.
Cracko leaned forward and smacked him in the nose with his left fist, sending him slamming back.
‘Don’t say another fucking word, or I’ll do it to the kid.’
The woman whimpered.
‘Things have gotten too lax around here since we were away. And the fact youse didn’t even offload most of this stuff by now shows a lack of respect.’
Cracko straightened himself up.
‘And I’m a killer for respect.’
Jig tilted his head around at the faces and bodies. The boy cried from the kitchen door. Jig got up on his toes and pushed his head in. The boy’s little penis was dribbling into a small pool at his feet.
Jig looked back at Seb. His mouth was open and his eyes darted from side to side at the boy’s crying. Jig lifted up the seat and turned it around so Seb faced the front door.
He looked back in. Cracko lifted his arm up. Jig saw the kettle raised high. Cracko’s face tensed and his mouth tightened as he tilted the kettle forward. Jig saw water pour out. There was a noise, like a fire crackling. A big cloud of steam rose up. Jig jolted at the muffled sickening screams. The woman’s legs hopped up and down on the floor, like in those films showing someone being electrocuted. Her waist writhed. She gagged on the rag. The man roared. Cracko flung the kettle at him, smacking him in the chest.
Jig looked at the little boy. His eyes jumped out from his face. He was trying to breathe and scream at the same time, making a sound like he was choking.
Jig lifted the car seat and waited for Cracko. He thought they’d be legging it. But Cracko, his forehead glistening, just stood there, staring at his handiwork.
‘Rat or no rat,’ Cracko said, after a moment. ‘Let this be a warning to youse, and to everyone – don’t fuck with us.’