Saturday's Child

Summat up in me head. Should've been cool with it, like, this whole Innes thing. But the cunt were a thorn in me side. He buzzed about. Couldn't shake him no matter how hard I tried.

Just like when he were going up in court that time.

Dad told us to leave off that time an' all, but I weren't about to let that lie. I said to Dad, I said, 'Here, c'mon, that cunt gets a deal, he'll fuckin' grass.'

Dad said, 'Leave him.'

'He'll grass us up.'

'Maybe it's what you deserve, son. Leave him.'

Leave him. Always fuckin' leave him.

Never fuckin' look after your own, eh? Keep it in the family, and now Innes were part of the fuckin' family? More trusted than me, just 'cause he kept his mouth shut. And who were that down to, eh? Who made the cunt keep it zipped?

Me.

When we did that job, me and Rossie and Baz and Innes and his smackhead brother, that were me what saved the fuckin' day. Swear to fuckin' God, that security guard, that fat piece of shite, I never hit him hard. Tapped him. Supposed to be a judo-chop 'cept I used me torch. You know, like you seen in the pictures. One quick hi-ya- whap and the fucker were out cold. And he would've been, except he twatted his head off the floor. I couldn't have seen that one coming, could I?

Dad went off it. Called us all the cunts under the sun. Like it mattered to him. I were the one up for the fuckin' charge if Innes spilled it. He were the one what got caught. Him and his smackhead junkie fuckin' brother. And I sweated big time on that one. Got so's I had to track him down and have it out with him man to man. But then he got uppity and I reckoned, what the fuck. Let him rot.

I made my point, know what I mean?

I wiped and looked in the bowl. I'd pebble-dashed the cunt, so I flushed and left it. What didn't go could fuckin' stay. Let the Paki bog cleaner deal with it.

Washed me face and looked at meself in the cracked mirror. Yeah, Innes were a problem. He'd have to be dealt with, but I didn't know how to do it. It were like the fucker had the luck of the devil. And it were like Dad liked him more than he liked me.

Well, fuck the pair of 'em.

I got out into the caff and punched Baz in the shoulder. He made out like it hurt more than it did. 'Fuck's up with you?'

'Bored, fuckin' bored is what's up with us, mate.'

'You wanna go down the amusements?'

'Amusements? What am I, twelve?'

'You want to call that blonde piece?' said Rossie. He had a mouthful of sausage.

'You what?'

'That blonde piece from last night. She gave us her number for you.'

'You never said that.'

'You want to?'

'Nah, she were dog rough.'

'Dog rough, but nineteen,' said Rossie. He raised his eyebrows.

Baz shook his head. He rubbed his shoulder. 'Nineteen's too old for Mo.'

Silence then. I stared at him. 'Fuck's that supposed to mean?

'You like 'em younger is all,' said Baz. He smiled. Always smiling, that fat fuck.

'Aye, and fuck's that supposed to mean?' I had a grip on me cuppa. Some spilled onto me hand, and it was hot. I felt the burn, but it were nowt compared to what were inside. A fuckin' volcano, just waiting on that shift.

'Baz didn't mean anything by it, Mo,' said Rossie.

'Let Baz talk for his fuckin' self, Rossie. Fuck were that supposed to mean, Baz? Calling us a fuckin' paedo or summat?'

'Nah — '

'Nah, what? You call us a fuckin' paedo, I'll put your head through that fuckin' wall, how's about that?'

Baz were laughing like he always did when he weren't sure about summat, the simple fuck. Rossie put his knife and fork down. 'C'mon, Mo,' he said.

'Fat cunt's got summat to say, let's hear it,' I said.

'Hey,' said Baz. He didn't like being called fat. Which was unlucky, like, because he were the fattest cunt I knew. 'I was just messing.'

'Fuck off.' And I chucked me tea at him. Baz were fast

enough to miss the mug, but too slow not to catch the brew right in the fuckin' face. He went off it, yelled, knocked the table when he got up. I planted two fists in his chest and he slumped into his chair, nearly went over. Then I got out from the table and went outside.

I could hear Baz kicking off. Calling us out an' that. But I lit a ciggie and took a draw. Held the smoke in me lungs hard and tight.

Rossie told him to calm the fuck down, then he came outside with me. 'Fuck was all that about?'

'He wants to start summat, he better follow through,' I said. 'It's a cunt with a mouth and nowt to back him up, you know that.'

'He was just messing with you.'

'Aye, so what? You want us to take that kind of talk on the chin?'

'Fuck's the matter with you? You mashed up or what?'

'Nah, mate. I'm clean as. It's that bastard what needs sorting out. Fuck it. Go back to your boyfriend. I'm off.'

I chucked the ciggie at Rossie's feet and made for the tram. I didn't look over me shoulder or nowt.

SIXTEEN

The afternoon turns to early evening, rain to drizzle. I've been sitting in this car for two hours now with nothing to show for it apart from an empty pack of Embassy and a throaty cough.

Nothing stirring. I've toyed with the idea of calling Brenda Lang, find out what the score is, but decided against it. I don't want to get any deeper. Right now, I'm innocent of every- thing. If I start digging around, phoning her back, it won't look good if this ever gets to court. No contact means no evidence. I've got to watch my arse when Donkey's involved.

I get out of the car, stretch my legs. There's no use waiting for a lead to drop into my lap. Something's got to be done. I start walking towards the tattoo parlour, an idea growing in my head. If I can't talk to the dealers and that barman's nowhere to be seen, there's always another option.

The bell rings as I push open the door. As I expected, the bionic girl is still behind the counter. And she's still reading that same magazine. When she looks up, her eyes are bright blue. Her nails are the same shade. She must change colours daily.

'How you doing?' I say.

'Straight up the stairs, second door on your right,' she says. Then goes back to her magazine. 'Nah, I'm not here to punt.’

‘You want a tattoo?'

'Not today, no. I wanted a quick word with you, if that's alright.'

'What about?' She looks suspicious. 'You know what goes on up there. You know the staff. You know a guy called Rob Stokes?’

‘What's he look like?’

‘I don't know.'

She raises her eyebrows, then scans an article on body- piercing. A photo of a guy with a face like a human gimp mask catches my eye. 'Then I don't know who you're talking about.'

'You never heard the name Rob Stokes.’

‘Nah.'

'You hear anything about a guy doing a runner with casino money?'

'You think I listen to what that lot say? They're a bunch of arseholes.'

'Couldn't agree more. So you never heard the name, and you don't know anything about it.' It was worth a try. 'Am I under arrest now?' she says. 'I'm not the plod, love.'

'Then I really shouldn't be speaking to you, should I?’

‘Yeah, you and everyone else,' I say. 'What do you do, then?’

‘I'm a private investigator.'

She starts laughing. Too long, too hard. But I'm used to it. 'A PI? Jesus, I thought they was just in the pictures. Fuckin' hell. Where's your hat?'

I left it in the car.'