Copper Face Jacks nightclub on Leeson Street was hopping on a Saturday night. The music blasted out, the drinks were flying, and the lads and ladies of Dublin were out in force on their weekend mating rituals. Drink in hand, Ricky Webb stood in the corner of the room watching it all. It was his first night of freedom, and he was determined to enjoy it.
He had been released earlier that morning. The screw had come to his cell at eight o’clock, and walked him down to the office, the other inmates all calling out to him.
Officer Matthews, a hard-faced man with a jaw like Superman, had processed him wordlessly, filling out the forms and handing them over to Ricky to sign. Finally he handed Ricky his clothes, his dead watch, and three hundred and seventy quid in cash.
Ricky looked around for somewhere to change, but there was nowhere. Matthews just stared at him. ‘Oh, what the fuck ...’ He tore off his prison clothes, threw them on the table, and dressed quickly in his civvies. He glanced up, and saw Matthews’ eyes still on him. ‘Had a good look? Fancy me, do you?’
Matthews said nothing, and maintained his intense glare.
‘So are we all sorted?’
The guard nodded to the clothes Ricky had thrown on the table. ‘Fold them.’
‘Screw you.’
Matthews simply repeated his gesture. ‘Fold them. Mommy’s not here to clean up after you now.’
Ricky looked down at the clothes, then glanced at the door on the far side of the room. Freedom was waiting for him. What the hell ... He picked up the clothes, carefully folded them, set them back on the desk. ‘Happy now?’
The guard grabbed the clothes and flung them into a laundry hamper behind him. ‘Now I am.’
‘Bastard.’
Matthews simply grinned, stepped over to the door, and rapped on it with his knuckles. There was a scrape, a clank of keys, and the door swung open.
A lanky young guard held the door open for him. ‘All right, let’s go.’
Webb stepped through, and the smell of asphalt assaulted his senses. He paused, looked up at the gray winter sky, and grinned. ‘About fucking time.’
The young officer closed the door behind him.
Ricky looked around – everything looked so normal so wonderfully, fucking normal.
‘Were you expecting someone to pick you up?’ the officer asked.
Ricky gave a grunt. ‘Who the fuck would come to get me?’
Now in the pub, Ricky sipped his drink and thought again about the question. He had spent the day chewing over it, letting his anger and frustration build. His father was dead, his mother was a cold-faced bitch, and to the rest of the family he was a pariah, the skeleton in the cupboard, the black sheep they never spoke about.
But now he was back. Out after eighteen long months, and he wanted to make up for lost time ...
His dark eyes scanned the room. So far the night had been a big disappointment. Earlier, he had headed to The Baggot Inn, his old hangout. The place was full of yuppies, bankers and IT technicians in designer clothes, with not one of his old mates to be seen anywhere.
After a quick pint he had moved on to Coppers nightclub. At least that was still the same, still the best place to go and pick up easy women; that he could see straight away. None of his mates was there, no one recognized him, but the talent was there, and tonight, that was what mattered above all else.
Eighteen months he’d spent inside, eighteen long months of fantasizing, but tonight it was going to be the real thing. It didn’t matter which girl, he wasn’t fussy, and any would do so long as she was up for it. And here, they all usually were.
He nursed his pint, and watched the guys and the girls play their games. All the time he was clocking, assessing – who was with someone, who was single, who looked like they might be willing.
One by one the best-looking girls were hit on – some of them several times before they let anyone buy them a drink – and little by little the losers were left at the margins. The big girls, the ones whose features didn’t quite add up, the ones with too much make-up on, too many miles on the clock and all that.
Finally, Ricky made his move.
‘You all right, love?’
The girl looked up. She was in her late twenties, with bleached blond hair, heavy make-up, a bit overweight, but nothing fatal. She wore a black miniskirt and a stretchy white top that struggled to contain her ample bosom. She had spent the evening on the dancefloor, as her more attractive friends got picked up at the bar, and now she was alone – alone, drunk, and vulnerable.
She looked up and saw a handsome face staring at her.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
She smiled and Ricky was sure she was thinking he was a cut above the losers who’d approached her that night. ‘Sure. Bacardi and Coke.’
Ricky caught the barman’s attention, no easy task in this crowd. ‘Bacardi and Coke, and a pint,’ he shouted over the din of the music. He turned back to her. ‘So what’s your name?’
‘Laura.’
Ricky took her hand, and brushed it with his lips. ‘Lovely to meet you, Laura. Mine’s Ricky.’
Laura gave a little giggle. ‘Well ... you’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?’
The barman brought their drinks. Ricky flipped him a twenty and smiled at Laura. ‘Been watching you for a while.’
She sipped at her drink and looked up at him through heavily mascara’d eyelashes. ‘Oh, you have, have you? And what have you been watching exactly?’
‘You’ve got quite a pair of legs, for starters,...’
She smiled, obviously thrilled with the compliment. ‘So what do you do, Ricky?’
‘What do I do? Let’s just say I’m a ... private security consultant.’
‘Hmm. Sounds interesting.’
‘Oh, it is.’
For the next hour Ricky plied Laura with drinks and compliments, and she in turn soaked them up. At around two thirty he decided to make his move. She was nicely drunk, and he was done waiting.
‘Fancy going somewhere quieter?’
She looked up at him, struggling to focus her eyes. ‘Where?’ she slurred.
‘My place is just around the corner,’ Ricky told her. ‘They’ve stopped serving here now. We could head back there for another one?’
She gave a watery smile. ‘Sounds good to me.’
Nice one, Ricky thought. As usual, it was almost too easy.
The air was bitter when they stepped outside, a blast from the east bringing a flurry of snowflakes. Ricky took off his jacket and wrapped it around Laura.
‘I think you might need this.’
She looked up at his dark eyes. ‘You really are a gentleman, aren’t you?’
He wrapped his arm around her. ‘Yep, a real gentleman, that’s me ...’
He steered her out of the nightclub and further down the street, Laura tottering along beside him on her high heels.
Their footsteps echoed on the quiet streets. ‘Is it much further?’ she asked as they turned onto a quiet backstreet a few minutes later. ‘These heels are killing me.’
‘Not long now,’ said Ricky. ‘My place is just down here.’
She suddenly stopped as he made to turn down a dark alleyway. ‘What kind of stunt are you trying to pull?’
‘I told you,’ said Ricky evenly, ‘it’s just down here.’
She peered into the darkness. An articulated lorry passed on the street alongside them, drowning out her response.
‘What did you say?’
She tried to pull away. ‘I said you’re crazy if you think I’m going down there with you.’
‘You’d be right.’
Ricky suddenly frowned at the strange voice, and saw Laura’s attention turn to someone behind him. Then, without warning, something hard smashed down onto the back of his head.
She screamed as he slumped on the hard ground beside her. The figure quickly kneeled over Ricky, and Laura caught a brief glimpse of her savior. He was dressed all in black, and wore gloves and a black baseball cap, but his face was hidden by the shadows.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked her.
She nodded shakily. ‘Thanks, I wasn’t sure if—’
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied gently. ‘You should go home now. I’ll take care of your friend.’
By then, Laura was only too happy to extricate herself from whatever issue was between the two, and she duly tottered quickly away down the street.
When she was gone, the man bent down over Ricky, and carefully sat him upright. He worked his hands up under Ricky’s armpits and, breathing a sigh of relief that he was a lightweight, hauled him to his feet.
For a moment they swayed forward, then the man steadied himself, bent down, and hoisted Ricky up into a fireman’s lift.
With Ricky draped across his shoulder, the man staggered up the alleyway. It was hard work, but he had been preparing for this for months, working out in the gym, squatting endlessly, practicing lifting and carrying heavy things.
Like dead bodies, for instance.
He soon reached the end of the alleyway, and cautiously looked out. There was no one around. He approached a white van, anonymously parked in the pool of shadows beneath a broken streetlight, slid the side door open, and dumped Ricky unceremoniously in the back of it.
His burden gone, the man straightened up, and arched his back to stretch it out. No one was around; no one had seen him except the girl, and she was too drunk to remember much.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, and slid the key into the ignition. Drive carefully, attract no attention. He had it all planned and he wasn’t going to make any mistakes now.
As he pulled away, he heard Ricky groan from the back and couldn’t suppress a smile of quiet satisfaction.
Better get used to pain, he thought. It’s what will fill what little life you have left.