Thorn In My Side (5 page)

Opening a
bottle of water, he filled a flask top to the brim. When Tiny had
drunk his fill, he walked him round the car park, noticing cars
leaving and cars arriving. It seemed as if a hell of a lot of
people shopped on a night. He shrugged. This
was
in a busy
part of London. He put Tiny back in the car, where he sat regally
on the front seat next to Mike. Mike opened the window and Tiny
hung his huge head out. Having scanned the car park repeatedly,
Mike drove off and went to look for Smiler.

He tried the
Embankment first. No one had seen him for days, but Mike got the
feeling that even if they had, he would be the last to know. As he
was walking away from a bunch of black kids, a stunning young woman
in a very short skirt and high heels, blonde hair piled Amy
Winehouse-style on top of her head, pouted at him and offered him a
very good time in a deep masculine voice. Mike smiled, and
muttered, 'No thanks.'

'You sure, you
beautiful man?'

'I’m sure.'
Still smiling, Mike walked on.

Behind him he
could hear the kids greeting the transvestite. 'Hi, Rita.' Mike
turned his head to look at them, a hint of amusement on his face,
as a police car pulled up.

A huge
policeman with a barrel chest jumped out of the passenger side, as
a smaller bored-looking policeman got out of the driver's side and
rested his arms on top of the police car. Shaking his head, he let
his chin fall on his arms.

'You bothering
these kids, Rita?' Barrel-chest asked, glowering at the
transvestite.

'Like you’re
really, really bothered,' one of the kids quipped.

Barrel-chest
took a step forward as the other copper lifted his head and,
catching the kid’s eye, shook his head in a warning. Getting the
message, the kid had the sense to back off. With a satisfied smirk,
Barrel-chest turned his attention back to Rita.

Mike knew he
should move on, not get involved. He had too much going on at the
moment, but he’d never been able to walk away from a bully. If Rita
wanted to dress like a woman that was his business, nothing to do
with this Neanderthal dressed as a policeman.

'What’s the
matter, Mr Cop?' Rita asked, 'Trousers too tight? Dying to try a
skirt on, is that it?'

'Ohh shit,'
Mike muttered. 'Wrong thing to say, Rita, wrong thing to say.' He
slowly started to walk back to them.

The cop leaning
on the car put his head down again and resignedly shook it, as his
partner launched a huge fist at Rita’s chin.

Rita wobbled on
his high heels, and the kids jeered and booed at the copper.

'That’s
enough.' Mike shouted as he reached them.

Barrel-chest
turned, a snarl on his face. 'If you know what’s best for you,
you’ll piss off and mind your own fucking business. This perve was
about to molest these innocent kids.'

'No, she
wasn’t,' one of them plucked up the courage to shout, and was
quickly echoed by the others.

Mike took his
badge out. 'I think it’s best if
you
piss off, don’t
you?'

The bored
copper quickly jumped into the patrol car as Barrel-chest backed
off. 'I… er… I was only doing my job,' he spluttered, getting into
the car.

'If I ever find
out that you’ve come back and bothered this lot again, I’ll
personally make sure that you’re
out
of a job. Got it?'

Staring
straight in front of him, not daring to meet Mike’s eyes, he nodded
as the car drove off.

'Thanks,
mister.' Rita held his hand out as he rubbed his bruised chin with
his other hand. 'I owe you.'

Mike took the
offered hand, noticing the red manicured nails
. What
the
hell
, he thought shaking Rita’s hand,
if this is how Rita
wants to
live, then it’s up to Rita.

After leaving
messages again that he would be on the nine o’clock train to
Newcastle in the morning, this time he was greeted with promises
from all of them that they would go seek Smiler out. He tried a
couple of other places, leaving more messages with a lot more
people that they promised to deliver if and when they saw him.

As a last
resort Mike tried the hospital. The doctor on duty was the same one
he’d met to talk about Smiler.

'Hi,' Mike said
when they met up in the corridor. 'I was wondering if you’d seen
Smiler lately?'

'No, not for a
while. I’m told he popped in a few weeks ago and read some stories
to the kids. Everyone was so pleased at how well he looked,
actually putting a bit of weight on… I believe we have you to thank
for that.' He smiled.

Mike shrugged.
'Well, actually we had a bit of a falling out today, and I have to
go away tomorrow. I would hate for him to think I’ve just sort of
abandoned him. So if he does happen to call in some time, just tell
him I’m sorry. And if he ever needs me, he knows my number.'

'Of course I
will. You’ve done so much for him that I can’t see him turning his
back on you over a row, he’s probably gutted that you’re leaving…
So take care.'

'Yeah, you
too.' Mike nodded then turned and walked away.

As Mike was
finally putting his head down for a few hours sleep, three hundred
miles away in a nightclub a young girl gasped, frightened. She left
the nightclub in a frenzied hurry, the bouncer, (usual issue,
medium height, muscles bulging, bald head, dressed in black) said a
pleasant, 'Good night.'

She ignored
him, moving as quickly as her huge amazingly thin heels would let
her, sweat breaking out on her brow in tiny little beads. Her hair
whipping around her face, and full blown panic waiting in the
wings, she tottered down the road.

Tonight was not
a good night!

Tonight she’d
heard the whisper.

Amongst the
crowds, in the dark, bodies pressed and heaving against each other,
the flashing neon lights turning every move into a jerking,
old-fashioned cartoon motion.

Then in the
midst of the jumble, a voice she didn’t know had spoken softly in
her ear, a breath, a kiss, a dire warning.

The brothers
were coming for her.

Fear in her
eyes, she’d looked around. It could have been anyone of the dozen
or so closest to her, but no one was looking her way. And she
daren’t ask, couldn’t ask, fear had sealed her mouth. She’d barely
been able to breathe, never mind speak.

Heart pounding,
she reached the corner of the badly lit street.
Which way… Which
way to go. Left? Right?

Think… Think…
For God’s sake, think.

She chose to go
right, not because she’d thought it through -- her mind was a mess
of panicked jangled thoughts, thinking straight was virtually
impossible. It was slightly better lit, though, and would lead to a
place she could take sanctuary in. Five yards on and the heel of
her left shoe caught in the crack between the paving stones.

'Bastard,' she
screamed as her foot twisted. Teetering forward she fell crashing
to the path, taking the skin off her palms as well as her knees.
The pain made her yell again, even though she knew she should be
quiet.
How am I ever gonna escape them making so much noise?
Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she thought it was
going to burst at any second.

Grabbing the
shoe with both hands, her fingers slippy with blood and rain, she
pulled as hard as she could, but the shoe stubbornly refused to
budge. She pulled and twisted but it was stuck fast.

'Shit, shit,
shit.' Tears of frustration and fright were streaming down her face
now.

Why did I ever
got involved?

Stupid…
Stupid idiot that I am, thought I was so cool. Get in, get a
story, get out.

There was only
one thing she could do. Flicking her black hair out of her eyes
with an irritated gesture and kicking off her other shoe, she
jumped up, ignoring the pain in her scraped knees. Tattered strings
of flesh dangling and blood running down her shins, she legged it
as fast as she could.

She was of
small build but had been a good runner at school. That was eight
years and God only knew how many fags ago though, and long before
she had inherited this terrible debilitating disease.

Fifty yards
along the deserted street, the pavements shining with the rain that
seemed to have been falling for weeks, and she was fairly feeling
the strain. Chest heaving, her breath rising in clouds before her,
she knew she had to slow down.

She couldn’t
stop though.

She daren’t
stop.

To stop would
be the death of her.

She cut her
foot on a rusty bottle top, the jagged edges going in deep. Each
step she took drove the bottle top deeper and deeper into her
flesh, but in her utter panic she felt no pain. She felt nothing
but sheer dread. She knew what was coming for her, what the
consequences would be. Terrified, she pounded along the pavement
towards Mary Street.

Why the hell
had did I choose Berwick-on-Tweed of all places to
run away
to?

Why didn’t I
run to London or Edinburgh, like just about
everybody else
does?

People have
rows all the time, say things they don’t mean, sometimes out of
sheer pig-headedness trading insults, they run
away.
Families, who bloody well needs them!

She’d come up
with a grand scheme to make money, when she’d heard the story.
Oh yes, hadn’t I just!

I should
have ignored it, gone down south, that was the first
plan.
Why the hell did I listen to the
drunken ramblings of a
fool?

Only the fool
had been right!

Warned to keep
the secret, told what would happen if she didn’t, she ignored the
warnings and went about everything the wrong way, trusting the
wrong people.

Now she would
pay, and pay with her life if they caught her.

Get the story,
sell it to the papers, that had been the plan. She would make a
good life as a journalist, show them at home a thing or two, a
dream come true. Move to London, a bigger paper, a grand life. That
would definitely show them.

Huh, some
dream. I couldn’t even get a job washing friggin' teacups on the
local rag, not enough qualifications.

Wow! Like
what qualifications do you need to wash a bloody tea
cup?

Nothing in the
last year has run true.

She was running
now, though. Running for her very life.

A car turned
into the top of the street. 'Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus.' She was so
frightened that she lost control of her bladder. Terrified and
ashamed, she stood there shaking with terror, a cornered creature,
knowing there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Then she
gasped, a tiny flame of hope lit in her heart. It was a taxi.

'Thank you,
God.'

A chance, a
lifeline had been thrown her way.

'Help,' she
yelled, moving quickly into the middle of the road. 'Stop… Stop.'
She frantically waved her arms up and down, refusing to move out of
the road.

The taxi slowed
to a halt. Very near fainting with relief, she jumped in, gave her
address to the driver, an oldish grey-haired man who looked like a
kindly uncle, begged him to be as quick as he could, then collapsed
back in the seat.

She closed her
eyes and tried to control her breathing. She would be all right
now, she would get away from here, as far away as possible.

Everything
will be fine.

I will never
even think about the brothers.

Never
again!

They will be
dead to my mind.

And what I
know will die with me.

I am going to
be fine.

She opened her
eyes a few minutes later and gasped, 'Oh my God.' They were heading
in the wrong direction.

'Is he fucking
stupid or what?’ she muttered.

'No, no… It’s
the wrong way,' she said loudly when she realised they were heading
for Sallyport, the last place she wanted to be. 'Turn round, turn
round.' Her voice rose with every word.

But the driver
either couldn’t hear her or was deliberately ignoring her.

The last was
unthinkable.

She pounded on
the glass partition with her fist, shouting now, straining her
throat, that he had to turn, go back, go the other way.

'
Turn
around
,' she yelled.

The driver
increased his speed. She was flung into the corner, her face
pressed up against the side window. The panic she’d felt before was
coming back with a vengeance. Spotting four youths in regulation
hoodie’s walking up the street, she banged as hard as she could on
the window, screaming, 'Help… Help me. Please help me.'

Of the four,
two laughed and pointed at her, a third was so far gone he was on
the moon, and the other grinned evilly at her. 'Enjoy,' he mouthed
as the taxi sped past them.

At the port the
taxi finally stopped. She squashed herself into the corner, eyes
wide and staring, her whole body trembling as the door opened and
an arm reached in.

Evan Miller
looked at his watch. 1.30 am. He glared at his friend across the
round metal bar table, which was really silver plastic in disguise.
The music was loud enough to deafen even the strongest pair of
ears, so loud that he could feel the bass vibrating through his
body. What was even more annoying were the stupid repetitive
lyrics. He hated coming here. What was the point of a night out
when you couldn’t even talk to your mates without shouting? And the
place stank of stale beer. The smoking ban had caused that, just
shows how much the smoke used to mask the smell.

But something
was wrong with Danny. He’d been mates with him long enough to know
when something was bugging him, which really could be anything from
a glass of spilt milk to England’s shores being invaded by every
country on the planet.