The One Safe Place (53 page)

"Reckon Dave and Ken gave the dick who did that eighteen months' worth." Barry shook his head like a fighter in a video, summoning his strength to rip his opponent to bits. "So what are we talking about him for?"

"It wasn't fair, was it? Dave and Ken only went after him because of what he did to my da, and it was him who pulled a gun on them, and now they've got five years each."

"The world's not fucking fair. That's why anyone like us has to even it up for ourselves, haven't you figured that out yet?" Barry clenched his right fist and brought it toward his face. "So what's your point?" he muttered at his knuckles.

Darren was afraid he'd lost that himself. Barry's comments were cluttering his head, pushing his thoughts out of shape. It took him several seconds to recall his theme, by which time Barry was swaying in and out of the front-room doorway on his left arm, threatening to lunge at him. "It wasn't just the bastard with the gun who got them all in trouble, was it?" Darren blurted. "It was his kid."

"Go find him and kick him senseless if you want to. You're not asking me to waste time on a kid."

"No, that's right. That's what I did, only I gave him better than a kicking."

"Fuck." Barry jerked his eyebrows up and twisted his mouth sideways in appreciation. "You're Phil's lad all right. So that's why the filth were sniffing round," he said almost to himself; then his voice and his eyes sharpened. "Didn't they find you? They'll be coming back."

"They won't. My granda made them think it wasn't me."

"Good on him for once. That's what family's for."

"I was here too, you know," Darren's mother complained.

"I should hope you was, Marie. Wouldn't want to think you went out while you've got my loot in the house." Barry was swinging his arms and dancing in the doorway without moving his feet. "So tell us all about it, lad. What did you do to him?"

"Found him in McDonald's in the Arndale and slipped some acid in his Coke when nobody was looking."

"Listen to that, Marie. He's a prize, your lad. Maybe he'll be giving us ideas before he's much older. You'll be one of us when you grow up if you carry on like that, Darren. Did you hang round to see what happened?"

"Watched him not know where he was and run round the Arndale seeing things."

"Wish I'd been there. Where'd he end up, or didn't you see?"

"Fucking did. I followed him and stopped him going to this guard. Pretended I was his mate. He thought he knew me from his school."

"Your lad's got some nous, Marie, I'm telling you. You'll have to tell his da what he done next time you see him. Took him somewhere, did you, Darren? Make sure nobody saw?"

"The filth'd still be here if anybody seen me, wouldn't they? It was just his mam brought them because she wanted it to be us."

Darren saw his mother not looking at him from behind Barry. She was right to keep her mouth shut—she would be making trouble for herself otherwise. "Where'd you take him?" Barry said, widening his eyes eagerly. "What'd you do?"

There seemed to be no way to tell it except straight. "Brought him home. Doesn't matter. He'll never be able to find his way back."

Except, Darren thought, he already had once. His mother was making more of an issue of not looking at him. "What are you getting at, lad?" Barry demanded. "Suppose he can recognise you? Where did you leave him?"

"He'll never, and even if he could it wouldn't matter, would it? He thinks I'm his mate who was looking after him."

"Yeah, and if he says how he felt the filth will know what someone did to him, and who are they going to think it was if it wasn't you?"

"I didn't think of that."

"Fucking good job there's someone here to do the thinking then, isn't it? You should have finished him while you had the chance. Never leave anyone you don't want to identify you, and there's only one way to be sure."

"Okay, I will."

"How are you going to do that, lad? Did you put him somewhere he can't get out of?"

"Yes."

"Go on then, tell us. I'm impressed so far."

"Even the filth couldn't find him."

"You mean they looked? You saw them looking? This is a treat, this. Where?"

Darren's mother turned her head and stared at Darren. Whatever her fierceness was supposed to communicate, it couldn't alter the only reply he had left. "Here. Upstairs."

Barry rubbed his scalp hard, rucking the skin, then made a fist which he held ready. "You're not trying to tell me he's still here."

"Didn't you hear the dog when you came in?"

"Don't try any shit on me, lad, or your mam won't be able to protect you. We aren't talking about no dog."

"That was him."

Barry scraped his knuckles against his chin and shook his fist, but thoughtfully. "Is this the best bit coming now? Spit it out, lad."

"He thinks he's hiding from some people that are after him. He thought the filth was them. I got him to pretend to be a dog if he heard anyone coming."

"You're never telling me you got him barking at the filth."

"He did that," Darren's mother said.

"You're a star, lad. I can't give you a kicking for being such a sly bugger." Barry knuckled his eyes as an indication that he could have laughed until he wept, then opened his fist. "All the same, you can't be sure nobody saw you with him. The filth might come back. I'm getting my loot out of here before they do, Marie, and while I'm at it I'll take care of him upstairs."

"The kid, you mean."

"I wouldn't be talking about Phil's da, would I? What's the face for? Got a problem with me finishing the kid?"

"No, only—"

"If it's your cut you're worried about it's coming out of Bernard's half. It's between you and him, nowt to do with me."

"That's all right, then."

"You fucking bet it is. You still don't look too pleased. Makes me nervous, people having secrets round me, and there's a few could tell you what happens then."

"I'm just looking at Darren. It's him that doesn't seem too happy."

That caught Darren off guard. He was certain his mother was simply trying to divert Barry's attention away from her, but he was still in the process of ensuring his face was blank when Barry swung around to him. "What's your beef? Don't want to keep him for a pet, do you?"

"If you ask me they're a bit too sweet on each other."

"You're never turning into one of them, lad. If there's one thing makes me sick it's them mucky sods who stick themselves up each other."

"I don't reckon they had chance to do that, Barry, but I saw the way they were looking at each other"

"When did you do that, mam? Seeing as you was—"

Before Darren could let Barry know she'd been out all night, Barry shoved himself out of the doorway and punched his collarbone again "Don't you be getting up to that shit because your da's not here. Maybe I should give you that kicking after all. I know Phil would."

"You fuck off. You're not my da."

"Don't you fucking tell me to fuck off, you little fucker."

As Darren attempted to dodge, the end of an arm of the chair against which he'd been thrown trapped his leg. The next moment Barry jammed one hand between Darren's legs and grasped his genitals and twisted them. "Know what this is for? To stick up tarts or in your own fist and nowhere else. You're not a fucking animal that doesn't know no better."

Through the pain which turned his vision grey Darren saw his mother shaking her head, at him or Barry or herself for not intervening. He sprawled into the chair, but the pain only exploded, because Barry hadn't let go. Then he did, and marched out of the room. "You want to keep an eye on him if he's going that road, Marie. Right now just keep an eye on the other little sod. I'll be back as soon as I've got the van and then you can help me take him out."

The front door slammed, shaking the house. The gate screeched, the motorcycle coughed, then roared away. Darren was bent double over an ache which felt like a hole torn out of him. He didn't look up when his mother stood over him. "Come on, you're not hurt that bad," she told him. "And if you are you shouldn't have been messing round like that. We can do without one of them in the family. Come on, will you, get up and do what you're supposed to be doing before Barry comes back."

He ought to have used the gun on the motorcyclist when he hadn't known who it was, Darren was thinking. He would have stuck the muzzle under the chin beneath the helmet, blowing it open like a goldfish bowl full of blood that would have covered every surface in the hall, leaving Barry standing with no head. The image made the agony between his legs a shade more bearable. If he couldn't see it happen, some other violence might suffice. "He's going to do it to him," he said through his teeth.

"I don't want that. He'll get me mixed up in it if you don't do what you said. You know Barry, he might do it here if he loses his temper. I want it kept away from the house, and you ought to and all. You don't want me locked up like your da."

Just now Darren didn't care who was locked up, except he wished Barry had been. He was entirely preoccupied with unbending by painful fractions of an inch as a preliminary to sitting up. He became aware that his mother was rummaging through her handbag, an activity which seemed irrelevant until she dropped two five-pound notes in his lap. Even so little weight made him crouch over himself again. "Ow, fuck, mam..."

"Stop putting it on, will you. Be glad Barry only gave you a warning. Stop wasting time and get your little friend out of here before he comes back."

Darren groped gingerly for the notes and stuffed them into his pocket. "You stop calling him my what you're calling him."

"You want Barry getting hold of him then, do you?"

Darren told himself he didn't care, but as the pain gave another sickening throb he realised that he hated Barry even more than he hated Marshall. If he sneaked Marshall out, not only would that be a way of getting back at Barry—he would be leaving his mother to face him. Serve her right for the triumphant smirk which showed she thought he'd betrayed his real feelings about Marshall. He clutched the arms of the chair and eased himself to his feet and set about the task of hobbling across the room. His mother folded her arms to let him know she wouldn't help him and watched in disbelief as he began to haul himself upstairs with the aid of the banister. "You're worse than your granda, you. Thank Christ your da's not here to see."

It was Marshall's fault he wasn't there—Marshall's fault that Darren's crotch was a swelling bruise. Suddenly Darren wanted to deal with him after all, if only to get him alone, far from any chance of being rescued, and watch his face when Darren revealed who he was. What Marshall would say, and what might happen then, were prospects which made Darren's suffering seem almost worthwhile as he heaved himself onto the landing and limped to his grandfather's room.

The old man was asleep, his head lolling sideways on the pillow, a trail of moisture glistening through the stubble on his chin as though a snail had crawled into his open mouth. The end of the quilt hid the lair under the bed. Darren hung onto the doorframe while he tried to stay out of reach of most of the smell of the room. "Marshall," he called. "They've gone. We're getting out before they come back."

A snore caught in the old man's throat, and the dangling quilt shifted, but only because his legs had Then Marshall's muffled voice said, "Who's that?"

"Who do you think?"

"Is it Darren?"

"No bugger else."

A hand appeared from under the bed and pulled Marshall's head after it. "I thought you might be one of them pretending."

"Even they can't make me into owt I'm not, lad. Come out of there before you wake my granda."

Marshall sidled out on his stomach and shoved himself back on his haunches, and glanced along the bed, apparently hoping the old man would be awake. "Thanks," he said wistfully as he wobbled to his feet, and tiptoed toward the door.

As Darren moved aside, pain stabbed his crotch. "Fuck," he gasped.

"What's wrong?"

Darren's hands strayed toward the pain, but rubbing it might make it worse. "What does it look like?"

"Did they do that to you?"

"Aye, because I wouldn't tell them where you was. I mean, they didn't know it was you, but they thought I was hiding someone. They nearly found you, lad."

"They came in here. I made them think I was a dog."

"You can thank me for thinking that up. Shut the door and let's get moving. Didn't you hear me tell you they're coming back?"

Marshall's face seemed to narrow with panic. He darted out of the room and closed the door and hurried down the stairs. When he saw Darren holding onto the banister and lowering himself step by step, however, he returned to him and put an arm around his waist. "Here, lean on me."

The support was too welcome for Darren to fight it off, though it made him feel uncomfortable with himself. He winced as stepping down renewed all the pain in his crotch, and Marshall helped him more carefully onto the next stair. Their awkward progress had taken them halfway downstairs when Marshall said, "Maybe..."

"Maybe all sorts of shit, lad. What?"

"I was thinking if these people may try and stop us, maybe we should take your gun with us."

"You take it if you want. I'm not."

"Where is it?"

The pain was getting in the way of Darren's thoughts. He eased one foot onto the next stair, and the ache opened like a wound. The gun might come in useful once they were away from any witnesses, especially if only Marshall's fingerprints were to be found on it. "Under the floor in the back," he said.

"Can you manage while I get it?" Marshall said, just as Darren's mother came out of the back room. She planted her clawed hands on her hips and stared in incredulous disgust at the boys. "God, what do you look like. What are you playing at now."

"We're going out, mam. We're going straight out. Never mind what you were after, lad." Darren had realised just in time that if Marshall found the gun he would see the loot, and then how could he be argued onto a bus when there was so much money for a taxi? Besides, Darren's mother would hardly let them take the gun. Marshall was hesitating, not quite dissuaded, and Darren stepped down faster, grinding his teeth. He'd be passing on the pain and more to Marshall once he got him by himself. "Move," he snarled.