Fireproof (16 page)

"I'm stoned to fuck, Mike. Anything's possible."

His right hand man's lack of passion disappointed Mike. He'd expected to have to convince Tony that he wasn't an impersonator. A welcome back would have been nice too.

"Where can I meet you, Tony?"

"Come to this party. Most of the guests are starting to fade, but I've a wrap of speed on me. I won't need to sleep for another day or two."

"Okay, give me the address."

Mike took a taxi to the apartment complex hosting the early morning rave. The music was audible from the security gates. The iron gates weren't very secure. One of them had been torn off the heavy-duty hinges. It looked like a very big vehicle had ploughed through them. The taxi driver wouldn't drive into the complex's main car park. He told Mike that the last time he'd driven in there the residents had thrown glass beer bottles from their balconies. He couldn't afford to get any more panel-beating done.

Mike unfolded the piece of paper with the address written on it. Twenty-three San Antone Apartments. Not exactly the most appropriate name Mike had ever come across. Inside the red-brick apartment block, the lift doors sported an out of order sign. He took the stairs to the apartment on the second floor. Mike passed an unconscious boy on his way up. Coma-Boy clutched a bag of glue to his chest and lay sprawled out on the first floor landing. Mike waited long enough to make sure the kid was breathing steadily and moved on. Instead of knocking the door, which would have been a wasted effort due to the volume of the music inside, he rang Tony's mobile phone.

"I'm outside."

"I'll be right there, mate."

Tony opened the door to Mike and his jaw dropped.

"Jesus, Mike, look at all the size of you."

"Are you going to let me in, or what?"

"Yeah, of course. Come in and grab a beer."

"I'll pass on the beer, thanks."

A clutter of empty tins and languishing bodies carpeted the apartment's floor. The scent of cannabis thickened the air. It mixed with the smell of body odour and leftover curry to create quite a heady cocktail. About five out of the twelve Hoods were conscious; the original gang from Dunville Park.

"Who the fuck is that?"

Mike located the source of the question. Jim McCracken. White powder crusted his straggly moustache. Jim on cocaine. Mike wasn't sure he was in the mood for a treat like that so early in the morning.

"It's Mike, Jim," Tony said.

"What the fuck? Did he shrink in the wash?"

"It's his new body, dickhead. He cut a big fucking hole in the other one."

"Oh aye, right enough."

"Would one of you guys put the kettle on, please?" Mike asked.

In a cocaine-fuelled burst of action, Jim filled the kettle, located some instant coffee granules and washed a cup for Mike to use. If Jim wasn't such a fuck-up he would have been likeable. He had a liveliness that not even years of substance abuse could fully subdue. It made his self-destructive streak all the more tragic. With a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, Mike waited for the conscious disciples to rouse the others. The operation took fifteen minutes, but Mike remained patient. He'd sprung the meeting on them at an hour's notice so what else could he expect?

"Now that you're all awake to varying degrees, I'd like to reintroduce myself. I'm Mike, your fearless leader. I've come back from the dead, just like I said I would."

There was very little shock amongst the twelve disciples. Mike almost felt insulted. Did these goons think that people came back from the dead everyday? He wasn't a show-off by nature, but what did you have to do to get a reaction from this crew? They didn't even ask him to prove his identity. They just had faith. A very lazy, stoned, listless faith.

"Don't you have any questions for me?"

"Do you want a smoke of this?" one of the boys asked. Some of the others laughed.

"No."

"What are we going to do next?" Jim asked.

"Thanks for asking, Jim. It really depends on what you've done since I've been gone. What has it been, about a month? What are the membership numbers like?"

Jim turned to Tony, who fielded the question. "Not many people have left. The numbers have stayed about the same, maybe a little less than that night you left us?"

"I'm sorry but did you say there are fewer members now?"

"Yeah."

"Haven't you been out spreading the word? Surely even word of mouth after the suicide would have seen an increase in numbers. Did I gut myself for nothing?"

Mike kept his voice calm but the Hoods were getting fidgety. None of them made eye contact. He turned to Tony.

"What have you been doing since I left?"

"We've been getting together with the Goths up the Black Mountain for masses every couple of nights."

The Black Mountain. A favourite carry-out spot for underage drinkers. It loomed over West Belfast and provided great views of the Turf Lodge and Ballymurphy housing estates. If you were to look beyond those estates you could take in the breathtaking view of the rest of Belfast City. A good spot to party, but Mike wouldn't have recommended it for holding a black mass.

"And what have you been doing at these masses?"

"Well, like the guidelines say I can, I've used a bit of creative licence and introduced cider consumption into the mass. We found that it helps us to meditate. Then we catch up on the craic to learn a little more from each other. Then we get some more drink on the go and see where the night takes us."

"So what you're saying is, you go up the mountain and get pissed in the name of Lucifer. You don't actively recruit new members but you have made some new friends who wear black clothes and makeup instead of sportswear and gold jewellery?"

"When you put it like that it doesn't sound very impressive, Mike."

"How long do you meditate for?"

"About thirty seconds. Someone usually gets the giggles and distracts the others by then."

"Do you talk about the religion, Tony? Try to improve your outlook on things? Anything like that?"

"That kind of stuff usually comes up when we light the spliffs."

"You're fired, Tony."

"What?"

"Jim, you're the new high priest."

Jim looked at Mike like he'd just slapped him in the face. Then he smiled and his look of shock turned to puppyish adoration. Tony clenched his fists.

"Got something to get off your chest, Tony?"

"Fuck you, Mike. This loser won't be able to cope with the job."

"Like you did? I'm sure Jim can handle getting pissed just as well as you can. I just think he might get bored of doing the same old shit all the time before you do. I can't believe I didn't see this before. You're not a leader, you're just a charmer. What's the point in trusting you with a following if you don't take them anywhere? Jim's jitteriness should at the very least take him somewhere!"

"And you think I'm going to follow this string of piss?"

"Do what you want, Tony. That's what you're best at."

"Tracey, you coming with me or what?"

Tracey took a step back. Tony glared at her.

"You dumping me for this bullshit religion?"

"No. I know what you've been up to with that Goth slapper. Ask her to leave Mike for you."

"Fuck you too, you wee skank."

Tony tried to shoulder into Mike as he stormed past. Mike's reflexes kicked in, as sharp as ever. He pivoted on his left heel and swept Tony's legs out from under him with his right foot. Tony clattered to the ground. Mike kicked him in the kidneys.

"You happy now, Tony? You'll be pissing blood for a week."

Coughing, Tony stood up on shaky legs and shot the whole group a poison glare. He grabbed a bottle of cider from the cigarette-burn dotted couch and slammed the door behind him.

Mike looked at the Hoods.

"Are you lot ready to do this thing right now?"

The rain ran down the outside of the window. Outside, everything looked grey. Cathy sat at a table near the big window. She'd arrived early for her lunch with Mike. It gave her a chance to check her makeup and hair in the ladies after her walk through the wind-battered and rain-spattered streets. The coffee flavoured coffee warmed her insides. One pound a cup and it tasted like heaven. West Belfast prices were a world away from those of the city centre coffee extortion racket.

To pass the time, she watched people scuttle by outside in the stormy weather. One lady in her forties with perfect makeup and poker-straight, blonde hair tilted and angled her umbrella with great skill to keep it from popping inside out in the wind. Unfortunately, the ice-cool lady couldn't do anything about the gust that lifted her office skirt and exposed her underpants. She let go of the umbrella and pinned down her skirt with her hands. The rain had its sadistic way with her hair and makeup. A black taxi horn blared when the umbrella crossed its path and bounced off the windscreen. The driver leaned out of the rolled-down window and suggested that the lady be more careful with her belongings, his language rather colourful. The lady hid her face with her hands.

Other incidents, such as the schoolboy who stepped into a deep puddle and the poor pensioner lady who got drenched by a bus cleaving through a puddle at the side of the road, paled in comparison to the lady with the umbrella and the impractical skirt. Cathy was still wishing her better luck when Mike burst through the door.

He wore a baggy T-shirt and huge tracksuit bottoms that had been hacked with scissors to accommodate his new height. Cathy resolved to take him shopping after they ate. His soggy trainers seemed to be the right size. He must have borrowed them.

"Do you not have a coat, Mike?"

"I was out and about before it started raining. It looked like it was going to be a good day at six."

"Wow, you were up early."

"I went to see the Hoods."

"Your tone and expression suggest that all is not well. Sit down and we'll order. Then you can tell me about it."

They talked over chicken salad subs. Mike was pretty pissed at Tony. Cathy couldn't believe that he had put Jim in his place. The two Hoods were a world apart in intelligence and charisma. She told Mike this.

"I know, Cathy, but Tony hasn't been using either of those gifts. He's spent the last month throwing parties and getting wasted. I expected more from him. Jim will do a better job."

"I don't think Jim could tell his arse from his elbow, to be brutally honest with you."

"Thing is, now that I'm back, he won't need to think. Just do what I tell him. There's no need for initiative anymore, just obedience."

"So why not just take on the role yourself, rather than pull Jim's strings?"

"It's all about appearances. I have to have a right hand man; someone who'll go down in history as my most trusted disciple. Nobody will remember that Jim was a complete gobshite. Just that he was the first high priest of our religion."

"It's starting to sound like a real religion already. Two months in and already there's a schism."

"That's one way of looking at it."

"You think Tony will start his own religion off the back of this?"

"The thought had entered my head but I think that it's more likely that he'll try to get revenge in another way. He might try and give me a hiding or even kill me."

"You worried?"

Mike snorted. He was so confident that he could not be beaten. Cathy wondered if that was healthy. In her mind, a certain amount of self-preservation relied on the knowledge that you could be harmed. When you believed that you were made of steel you were in danger of letting your guard down.

"What happens now?"

"Now I need to have a meeting to announce my return. I've got the Dunville Park Hoods phoning about. They've been holding masses on the Black Mountain. We may as well use the same location tonight."

"Can I come?"

"Certainly."

"Good, because if that wee girl, Denise with the purple hair, tries to kiss you again, I'm going to panel her."

Mike laughed and Cathy loved the sound of it. His voice had heightened a little in pitch since he had returned from Hell, but it was still as raspy as a heavy metal singer's.

"The mass won't be until after eight tonight. What do you want to do until then?"

"I think we should go into town. You're in serious need of a fashion makeover."

Mike looked down at his clothes. He laughed that wonderful laugh again and nodded. They took a black taxi into town and went straight for the Castlecourt Shopping Centre. The best clothes shops were on Royal Avenue, the city centre's main street, but Cathy didn't want to get drenched, so they did all their shopping inside. Mike didn't put up too much of a fight when Cathy suggested that they bypass the Lifestyle Sports unit. She took him to a more upmarket menswear retail unit and got him suited and booted in some off-the-rail Italian fashion. He decided to wear one of the suits there and then and asked the assistant to dispense of his old oversized T-shirt and his ragged tracksuit trousers. The suit was black and the shirt and tie were two different shades of purple.