Breaking Point (The Point Series: Book 2) (8 page)

Because you've got nobody.

That might have sounded like his dead brother. If he'd heard it.

You
can
hear me, wee bro.

Nope.

Dope.

Fuck off.

Get out of here. Get out of here now. It's not safe here. You don't know these people. They've already made you feel uncomfortable. Even Tony. Especially Tony. Go, wee bro. Go.

Staying.

Brian closed his eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He detected a slight whistle in his left nostril.

Again.

Definitely the left nostril.

He didn't whistle through his teeth.

"He's stoned to the wallabers."

What the fuck are wallabers?

"He's fine."

"He'll whitey."

"He won't. I smoked with him last night. He just gets quiet."

He could speak for himself.

If he could be bothered.

Go.

He couldn't go now. They'd think he'd gone to the toilet to whitey in private.

"Everything's going to be all right," Brian said. Loud in his own ears. Whatever, whatever the others.

"Ting?"

"Wha'?"

"We need music."

"Got my phone."

"Too tingy... no, tinny. Would rather have nothing."

"This track sounds good tinny."

It didn't. The music these guys liked would never sound good to Brian. These were not his people. He'd proved he wasn't going to whitey. Had proved he wasn't unfriendly. They knew now that he chose to be quiet.

"I like to think," Brian said. Louder.

"We're not stopping you."

Somebody
was stopping him.

The jackasses laughed. Brian couldn't stop himself. Stay or go? Giggle.

It felt good. The chuckle, chuckles, chuckling. Warmed his chest. Chucky. Not the Irish word. He wasn't a rebel. Not in that way.

Fuck.

Brian stood up. It was like breaking the surface in a calm lake. He didn't even realise he'd been drowning. "I should head on."

"Half a cup."

"Dead on."

"Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you."

"Stupid."

"Your ma."

"Wallabers."

"I feel good, Tony," Brian said. "Thanks."

"See you tomorrow?" Tony's voice.

Brian hadn't seen his lips move, but he knew Tony's voice. He spoke to Tony. Only Tony. "You'll be here?"

"Sleeping on the floor is good for your back."

"Right."

Steel 'fro and the others giggled.

"Good night, girls."

They giggled harder, longer... faster. Maybe Brian was getting funnier.

Brian moved to the door. It was open. A big hand on his chest stopped him leaving.

The stalker? Had to be.

"Do I know you?" Brian asked.

"God. I hope not."

The guy curled his upper lip. Peeled it back from his dazzling teeth. Chased all the handsome from his face. Brian could smell aftershave. Or balm. Maybe it was just his deodorant. Probably expensive aftershave. This guy spent money on himself. You could tell by his suit and the diamond studs in his slightly oversized ears.

"What are you staring at, fucko?"

"A stalker?"

"Stalker?" Mr Suit pushed Brian to one side. "Go home, fucko." He adjusted his shirt cuffs so they poked out of the sleeves of his jacket. "You're stoned."

"Okay. Cheers. See youse."

"Don't go, Brian," Tony's voice grated.

"You've been ignoring my calls, Tony," Mr Suit said. "That makes me look bad."

"Sorry, Malachy. I've been busy with the club. This is my idea."

"A crack den for weed smokers?"

"No, it's not that at all. It's a kung fu club."

Steel 'fro stood up. "He told us there'd be magic mushrooms in October. We could use them to enhance our training."

Mr Suit – Malachy – lashed out a boot. Steel 'fro dropped to his knees, hands cupped between his legs. He sobbed. The jackasses stayed where they were, holes glued to the floor, backs against the wall.

"What the fuck, Tony?"

"Sorry, Malachy."

"You owe me money."

"I know."

"You're smoking weed you haven't paid for."

"I know."

"Problem is, now all the losers in this room know."

That was enough for Brian. He slipped out the open door.

The guy in the Bruce Lee T-shirt waited for him on the landing. He had a knife. A big one. Possibly a machete. A bigger guy, this one in a shinier suit than Malachy's, stood behind him. He looked like he didn't need a machete.

"Brian, isn't it?" Bruce Lee T asked.

"Yeah." What else could he say?

"Go."

"Thank you."

Brian heard Tony call his name. He ignored the dealer. Didn't know him. Barely owed him. Sorry, Tony.

Considerably sobered, he stepped out into the fading light. Dull in the summer. It had to be well after nine. Rachel would be pissed off. He'd make it up to her. Just as soon as he figured out how to get back home.

There was a Toyota Avensis parked at the kerb beside him. A good size car for a taxi. But Brian couldn't see any taxi plates on it. No sign on the roof either. Couldn't trust a taxi without the official plates. He was about to move on when the tinted passenger window whirred open.

"You looking for a lift?"

He couldn't make out the man behind the wheel. Couldn't work out if the weed was creating the shadows that hid the driver's face. "Do I know you?"

"Come a wee bit closer, mate. I'm deaf in this ear."

––––––––

O
wen raised his voice, tried to get through to the gormless prick. "I said I'm deaf in this ear."

Brian Morgan. He acted like he was deaf himself.

Owen was face-to-face with him at last. And the bastard didn't even recognise him. Then he realised he was still wearing his hat low and his collar high. He whipped the woolly head-sock off his dome and pointed to his scars.

"Dude. What happened to your ear? Did you answer the iron instead of the phone?" Brian clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, mate. I'm stoned to... to... You're not a cop, are you?"

Each word out of the gobshite's mouth was like a slap in the face. But Owen swallowed it down. He'd need to use the good indigestion tablets later. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you."

"Oh, thank fuck," Brian said, mumbling at first and then bellowing. "I'll head on, man. I need to find a taxi!"

"Do you want a lift?"

"Ach, I wouldn't bother you, mate. Sure you don't even know if I'm going your way."

"Where are you going?"

"Ach, no. Forget it. There's a taxi firm just up the street. They'll sort me."

"Get in."

"You're not going my way."

"How do you know?"

Brian ran a hand over the top of his stubbly head. Owen thought the fucker looked tougher. Battle-hardened, maybe. Owen remembered a wide-eyed kid with an Irish afro and stooped shoulders who couldn't hold a gun straight. Brian Morgan had changed a lot in a short time. Probably not for the better. He was obviously high as a kite.

Brian reverted to mumble-mode. "Could be doing without this nutter."

"Who's a nutter?"

Brian double-blinked, took an eternity to open his mouth and said, "Not much wrong with your hearing now, is there?"

"It's better than your aim; I'll grant you that, Brian."

"Ach, shite."

The girl in the boot decided that that exact instant was the right one to wake up, scream and hammer on the lid.

Owen roared. "Shut the fuck up! Bitch!"

The banging and screaming stopped. Owen almost yelled a thank you. His never-ending migraine was spiking.

Brian backed away from the car. He looked up and down the street. The stoner couldn't even figure out which way to run. Too easy.

Owen pushed open the driver's door and slipped out of the car. He moved slowly, his arms spread wide as if he was cornering a small, skittish pet.

"Come over here, Brian. I just want to chat."

"There's nothing to chat about, man. You were there to kill me that day."

"I was not. I was there to collect your brother for the boss. I'd no idea you'd be there."

"You had a gun!"

"Which you tea-leafed right out of my pocket and shot me with. My own gun."

"It was meant to be a warning shot."

"And what? Will that grow my ear back?"

"You're nuts, man."

"Get in the fucking car."

Owen lunged. Something happened and a light flashed in the back of his brain. He stumbled backwards. Then he realised. The stoner was punching him. Owen hadn't expected a fight. The thought of it made him snigger. Brian pulled back his arm, priming a knockout blow. Owen stepped to the side and the fist whiffed through the air. The stoner's flank was open. Owen cracked his ribs with a hammer-blow body-shot. Brian grunted. His hands dropped. Owen bitch-slapped him. The stoner toppled.

Owen towered over Brian. He had toughened up a wee bit. Not enough, but at least he'd had a fair go this time. Didn't resort to picking pockets. Owen bent down to slap him about a little more before he bundled him into the car.

A window exploded and glass rained down on his back. He yelped and scrambled out of the downpour. Debris littered the footpath around Brian. Then he heard screaming. Looked up.

Somebody was flying through the air. But only a short distance. The flailing body crash-landed on the roof of the Toyota.

The bitch in the boot started up her shrieking again. Owen switched his gaze to the busted window. A big man in a suit dusted his hands off, a huge grin almost splitting his face in two. The smaller suit, Malachy, stood beside him. Owen gave him a nod.

"You scared the shite out of me there."

Malachy winked at him. "Sorry about that, boy. Did you get your fellah?"

Owen pointed to Brian, still huddled on the footpath. "Got him, yeah. Thanks for letting him through." He swept his hand towards the Toyota. "You got yours as well, then?"

"Got him good. Sorry about your motor. My colleague got a bit overexcited."

"It's a hire car. Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll still run. Looks like cosmetic damage, just."

"Well, sorry for the hassle anyway. We better head on. The cops will probably arrive in half an hour or so."

Malachy and his heavy stepped away from the broken window. Owen nodded to himself.

Pretty reasonable for a druggie gangster, like.

With his good ear, Owen heard the shuffle and scuffle of Brian struggling to his feet. He figured he'd throw the wee stoner into the boot with the screaming girl. It'd be tight, but maybe a bit of company would calm her.

"Right, Morgan. Come here."

"Can't... breathe... help."

Brian had gotten onto his knees, but he remained there hugging his own chest. Owen must have done a real number on those ribs.

"Get up, you big girl's blouse."

"Trying... to."

More than a little pleased with himself, and eager to get moving on the rest of Brian's nightmare, Owen stepped up to the wimp and extended his hand. Owen saw the glint in Brian's eye just a second before he launched an uppercut straight into his crotch. His whole body convulsed and he bent at the waist. Then his ruined ear thundered with pain. The world went black and grey. He felt four or five blows to the side of his head before he dropped to the tarmac and curled up into a ball. His kidneys flared as they absorbed a kicking.

––––––––

T
ony felt pressure on his eyes. His lids were pulled open. Light flooded his brain. Brian's face floated in front of his.

"Jesus, thank God," Brian said. "I thought you were dead."

"You came back for me?"

"Sort of... Can you move?"

He tried. "No."

"You have to. I need to get out of here."

Tony doubled the effort but got the same result, with added agony. "Jesus, they've done a real number on me, haven't they?"

"Tony, come on. Move!"

"I really can't."

Brian pulled at Tony's hoodie. His back flared. Every nerve screamed. "Fuck!"

"Oh, shit. He's getting up. I have to go, Tony. I'm really, really sorry."

"What...?"

Brian was gone. Tony heard a car door clunk shut and then the ground underneath him started to vibrate. He put a hand out to steady himself. Felt like he was moving without moving. Was that what concussion felt like?

The ground seemed too smooth. And then he was sliding. The darkening sky spun away from him. He bounced. Bounced again. Rolled. This time he really was on tarmac. He could feel every little crack in it. An engine roared. Tony watched a car drive off. He began to figure out what had just happened.

Brian had run off on him. Again.

He still couldn't move. The pain was a distant thing. Not complete agony just yet. He knew it was coming, though. Maybe he should just lie there and sleep for a little while. Hopefully when he woke up, he'd be in a hospital bed.

He drifted.

And got snatched back to reality.

Tony felt like he'd been dropped from a plane onto a giant trampoline. His brain rattled about in his skull. He couldn't figure out what way was up. Hands pulled at his cheeks. He opened his eyes.

An ugly one-eared thug stood over him.

"Do you know where Brian Morgan lives?"

Tony stared at the missing ear. The impropriety earned him a couple of slaps.

"What's Brian Morgan's address?"

Tony got one arm moving. He pawed at the man. The action did little to improve his situation. He gasped.

"Yes, yes," Tony said. "I know where he lives. Stop hurting me."

"Tell me."

Tony gave up the information gladly. It was the only thing within his power that he could do to the yellow bastard who threw him to the wolves. Twice.

The man with one ear disappeared. The world pulled up its anchor. Tony retreated into the darkest corner he could find.

Oblivion.

––––––––

B
rian kept the pedal pressed to the mat on the way back to Dundrum. The Toyota's flanks practically heaved with effort. He couldn't stop. The panic would set in. Better to speed. Get the fuck out of there.