The car was a dark blue saloon, a German job with alloy wheels. And it made me think. It made me remember the car that had followed us the other night from the Dog and Ferret, the one that Slow Kid had managed to lose on the heath. There was a figure in the driving seat, and I decided it would be interesting to see who he was. I started to walk up the pavement and almost bumped into another bloke who came out of the spares shop. He had a carrier bag in his hand and looked to be in a hurry.
He was already at the door of the car before he looked up, and we recognised each other.
“Rawlings.”
He didn’t have time to talk, his expression seemed to say. He opened the door and shouted something to the bloke at the wheel. As I came up, the driver turned quick and looked at me with those dead eyes. I was too slow to dodge the door that flew open and cracked me hard across the knees. Hell, that hurt.
That was how I came to be lying sideways on the pavement as they drove away. And that was why I could only remember part of the registration number, on account of my head being at the wrong angle. Oh, and my eyes being shut with the pain.
“Stones, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Hello, love. Just resting.”
Lisa stood over me, looking less than sympathetic. “You’re making a fool of yourself. Get up.”
“I think I might have broken my leg.”
“Rubbish. Get up, you pillock.”
I struggled to my feet, wincing at the agony in my shins, and worrying that the fancy pattern on my boots might have got scratched. Dan Posts these, you know. Three hundred dollars, at least.
Lisa did nothing to help me, just stood there with her hands on her hips, looking just like my mum when I hadn’t washed behind my ears properly.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were drunk.”
“At this time of the morning? In any case, you’ve only had your eye off me for two minutes.”
“Mmm. You’re up to something.”
“Me? Never. Can’t you see I’m injured here, woman?”
“You’re always pissing about, Stones. Always.”
Then we called in at the Cow for an early lunchtime drink — me hobbling and Lisa wearing that tight smile she uses when she disapproves of me. I couldn’t have got any further than the Cow just then, with my injuries. Fortunately, Lisa’s not proud about where she drinks. Good job too. I’ve been banned from all the places that have ash trays.
It was only two days since I’d been in this same bar with Nuala, of course. But it didn’t worry me. People in the Cow don’t talk more than they have to, not about each other. It’s likely to shorten your life span a bit, which is why I had to lean on Moggie Carr so much. No daft bugger’s going to come wandering up and ask who the other bird was that I was with the other day.
In a way, it would have been a relief if they’d done that. I hadn’t come up with any good ideas yet on how to ease Lisa out. I was hoping Michael bleedin’ Cavendish would do the job for me, but I might have to give her a bit of a push. Sounds cruel, I know, but that’s me. Love ’em and leave ’em and move on to the next thing. You take root if you stand still.
“Hey, Stones.”
I looked around me. In the corridor to the gents, Slow Kid Thompson was lurking behind a doorway, out of sight of the bar.
“What you doing there, Slow? You owe somebody money again?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Spit it out, then. Let’s go in here.”
He followed me into the gents. I wouldn’t normally have felt uneasy about this with Slow, if it wasn’t for the way he kept looking around like a guilty old pervert.
“What is it?” I said as I let a golden stream hit the stainless steel. It made a nice hollow drumming noise that you could almost play tunes with. I fancied something with a bit of a heavy beat today.
“Eddie Craig,” he said.
The stream faltered and the tune became a harpsichord sonata. Sir Thomas Beecham described the noise of the harpsichord as ‘two skeletons copulating on a corrugated tin roof’. How appropriate.
“What about him?”
“He’s looking for you, Stones. He thinks you had something to do with the ram raid that went wrong.”
“What gives him that idea?”
“Talk.”
I was dry now, mainly around the mouth.
“I don’t particularly want to see him just at the moment, Slow.”
“What you going to do then?”
“Go back and talk nicely to Lisa.”
“Right? So—”
“You wouldn’t understand that, Slow. Sometimes that’s what you have to do with women. Talk nicely to them.”
“To keep ’em sweet, you mean?”
“No. I mean when you want something.”
We went in Lisa’s Fiat. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t posh, it wasn’t even clean. But with a bit of luck it wouldn’t be recognised by Craig and his boys, or anyone who felt like blabbing to them.
“I’m not sure how long I can put you up for, Stones,” she said. “I’m a bit busy right now.”
“I know, love. But I won’t be any trouble. It’ll just be until they get the problem sorted out.”
“It was a bit sudden, wasn’t it?”
“These old gas pipes, you know. The council should have replaced them ages ago. I suppose it’s been building up for years, then suddenly the gas leaks into the house. If I stayed in there another night it could have been ‘poof’ — no more Stones McClure.”
I just had one overnight bag with me, containing a few clothes and stuff. But I also had a rather important sports bag, which I have to admit did not contain my tennis gear. It had arrived by special courier one night, sent by a business contact who’d recently taken delivery from me of a French-registered lorry full of leather jackets, jeans and denim shirts.
“It’s terrible,” said Lisa. “I hope you get compensation from the council.”
“Well, you know — I don’t like to insist on anything like that. It’s all our money, isn’t it? Us taxpayers. The Council Tax, I mean.”
“Still. They’d better do a proper job.”
“I’ll complain to Councillor Border if they don’t.”
That made her laugh. “I didn’t think you liked him. I once heard you call him a grade one plonker.”
“Just because I’d rather vote for a rabid dog doesn’t mean he’s not there to represent my interests.”
“I’m sure he’d love to give you some advice.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
It was going to be hell shacking up in Lisa’s house. The frilly curtains and the pot pourri were really depressing. After a day or two, I’d go away smelling of patchouli oil and rosewater. I’d probably get banned from the Cow’s Arse for offensive behaviour. And then there was the teddy bear. I’ve had a problem about sharing a bed with furry creatures ever since my older brother slipped a mouse under my sheets when I was eight. So I could foresee a bit of bedtime conflict there.
We stopped at the little shop in Lisa’s village to stock up with a few bottles of wine. Lisa came out with pasta, red peppers, sun-dried tomatoes and a bottle of olive oil. It looked like we weren’t on fish fingers and chips tonight then.
Once in the house, Lisa headed for the kitchen while I found a discreet place to tuck the sports bag away. It would have to stay there until I got chance to take it to the bank. I wasn’t worried — if Lisa noticed it, she’d just assume it was my dirty laundry or something. Then I grabbed the TV remote control and got my feet up on the settee, remembering to take my boots off first. It was getting close to news time, and you’ve got to keep up to date.