Underdog (15 page)

‘That’s as may be, Tom, but you’ve stolen him. He’s not yours to keep. You can’t go round nicking any animal you feel sorry for. And this Callum bloke isn’t taking it too kindly; just look at your bike.’

 ‘Please don’t make him go back …’

‘I’m sorry, Tom. We can’t keep him. Whatever his owner is like, and however he treats his animals, at the end of the day it’s his dog. If he wants to sell it, we can’t stop him. It’s not up to us. What if he goes to the police?’

‘He won’t. That’s the last thing he’ll do. If he went to the police, then …’ Tom stopped himself again; he had already said too much.

But just as Keith was about to ask him what he meant, the doorbell rang.

As the front door opened, Cal flashed Keith his most intimidating sneer. Behind him stood another man, bigger and even tougher looking, decked out in a tight-fitting padded biker jacket and black jeans, his face half hidden under a bush of blond hair. Stevo was there too, standing well back and out of the way.

‘Hear you got the dog back.’ Cal spat at Keith’s feet. ‘Come to get it.’

‘Look, I don’t want any trouble.’

‘Well, go and fucking get it, then,’ Cal ordered with practised menace.

‘Your dog isn’t here.’ If Cal had been on his own, Keith would have gone for him. ‘It’s just my boy that’s come back, and he says he didn’t take any dog.’

Cal held Keith in his cold stare for a moment, then turned to look back at Frank, his knowing smile anticipating the pleasure of trouble.

‘I might have hair round me lips,’ he said, turning back to Keith. ‘But don’t take me for a twat. I didn’t come here to piss about.’

‘Look, if you’re selling the dog, I’ll buy him from you,’ Keith offered, changing tack. ‘How much do you want?’

‘I ain’t selling, mate.’ Cal’s eyes narrowed. ‘But seeing as you’re asking, a dog like that’d cost a shite like you over a grand. Coupled with the fact your kid stole him, I’d have to bounce that up to two at least, just to make things fair.’ He looked the house up and down contemptuously. ‘Selling this shithole wouldn’t get you that, even if you did own the fucker. Now, just bring him out and there’s nothing more to be said. Don’t tread on my toes, and Frank here won’t have to break your fingers.’

Frank stepped forward on cue, the two of them crowding in around Keith. At that moment, Tom stepped into the hallway to see what was going on. Spotting Stevo’s stepdad, he rushed forward to try to shut the door, but was stopped as Frank pushed Keith out of the way, just in time to jam his booted foot against the doorframe.

‘Go and get him,’ said Cal at the sound of Jeffo’s barking.

‘You can’t go in there,’ protested Keith.

Making a grab for Frank as he pushed his way past, Keith found himself pulled back and spun around, the force of Cal’s head butt knocking him back against the wall. Pinning him there with his forearm under Keith’s chin, Cal squeezed, forcing Keith onto his toes just so he could breathe.

‘We can do what we want,’ he said, leaning in harder. ‘You want to remember that next time you go nicking off the likes of me.’

When Frank burst into the kitchen, Tom was already out the back, trying to lead Jeffo towards the garden gate. As he closed in on them, Jeffo shuffled backwards, his hackles raised.

‘Ah,’ sneered Frank, ignoring his growls. ‘Ain’t ya pleased to see me?’

Pulling out a leash and chain from his back pocket, Frank shoved Tom aside and deftly grabbed Jeffo by the scruff of his neck. Slipping the choke chain around his thrashing head, he pulled it tight with such force that Jeffo was lifted off his feet.

‘Gotcha, you little shite.’

Jeffo struggled and snarled, shaking his head wildly to try to free himself, but Frank easily reeled him in, dragging him back into the kitchen and kicking out as Jeffo’s claws scrabbled across the lino.

‘Leave him alone!’ screamed Tom as he rushed in after them and leapt onto Frank’s back.

Frank grabbed hold of Tom’s shirt with his free hand, pulling him off and throwing him to the floor. He leaned over and drew his hand back to fake a punch.

‘You better watch it, sonny,’ he said, as Tom glowered back at him. ‘Or you and your old man’ll be going the same way as this one.’ He hauled Jeffo into the hallway and out of the house.

‘Got him,’ said Frank as he stepped outside. He dragged Jeffo to the gate and handed the chain over to Stevo. ‘Don’t go losing the fucker again, dickhead.’

Cal released his grip on Keith’s throat and took a step back, his boot flashing upwards and catching Keith squarely in the groin.

‘Next time you or your boy fuck with me and my business,’ he said as Keith sank to his knees, ‘it ain’t going to be a kiss goodbye like this one.’ He bent down and yanked Keith’s face up to look him in the eye. ‘Got it?’

‘Get off him!’ shouted Tom as he shot out of the house, throwing as much power as he could into a punch that bounced off Cal’s arm.

Cal fended off Tom effortlessly, laughing as he did so, pushing him back on top of his father. Jeffo’s barking became even more intense when he saw Tom being manhandled and he struggled even more furiously, making it hard for Stevo to keep hold of him.

‘I’d get that boy of yours under control if I was you,’ warned Cal as he headed down the path. ‘Stevo, shut that fucking dog up and get it in the car.’

Stevo pulled Jeffo down the street to the black 4x4. Frank followed, kicking at the dog’s backside to hurry him up.

‘You’re a bastard, Stevo!’ shouted Tom, tears streaming down his face.

Stevo couldn’t bring himself to look back. He stood with his head down as Frank picked Jeffo up and threw him violently into the back of the car, feeling ashamed for having betrayed his friend. However useless it might have been, Stevo couldn’t help but admire Tom for trying to stand up to them; it was something he wouldn’t have dared do in a million years. He wished he had half Tom’s guts.

They got in and Cal started the engine, Tom ran onto the street in just enough time to slap his hand against the car’s rear window, helpless as it pulled away.

‘Jeffo! JEFFO!’

Jeffo jumped up and looked back, his paws scratching wildly against the glass, the sound of his barking fading as the car sped away. Tom stood, watching until he was out of sight, then ran back to the house and helped Keith inside, supporting him as they made their way back to the kitchen.

‘Are you alright, Dad?’

‘Yeah … I’m … Yeah. It’s okay.’

Tom was desperate. It was time for the truth.

‘Dad, if I tell you something, you’ve got to promise you won’t go to the police.’

Keith wondered what on earth was coming next.

‘Promise, dad.’

‘You know I can’t promise you something like that. What the hell is going on?’

Tom had no choice. He took a chance on his dad.

‘They’re not selling Jeffo. They’re going to fight him tonight. Stevo showed me everything. They’re going to kill him. It’s part of some deal.’

‘Then the police should know about it, Tom. They could get sent down for something like that. Why wouldn’t you want to get them involved?’

‘’Cos if the police find out that Jeffo’s being used for fighting, they’ll take him. They’ll have him put down. Either way, it means he’s going to die.’ Tom stared imploringly into Keith’s eyes. ‘He’s my dog, Dad. I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to try.’

He waited silently while Keith took in the reality of the situation, glancing at the kitchen clock anxiously as the seconds ticked by.

‘I’m sorry, Tom, but you’re going to have to leave this to me,’ said Keith finally. He smiled at Tom through his pain; more than anything, he wanted his son to believe in him. ‘If you want Jeffo back, you’re going to have to trust me.’

‘We need to get a move on.’

Cal was buzzing. He leaned further forward in his seat, hunching over the steering wheel. From behind, it looked as if he were trying to push the car to make it go even faster.

‘Shut that fucking dog up, Stevo,’ he shouted over the barking. ‘Can’t hear myself think.’

In the back seat, Stevo turned and bashed the grill. The noise immediately reminded Jeffo of his cage and he lay down, quiet and out of sight.

‘Where to first, then, Cal?’ asked Frank.

‘Back to mine and get the cash sorted.’ Cal eyed Stevo in the rear-view mirror. ‘We can drop off shithead, too.’

Stevo avoided the glare, angry that getting the dog back hadn’t made the slightest difference; Cal wasn’t about to forgive him, it wasn’t in his nature to let things go. He felt awful, sitting there, mulling over the way Tom had run after them, calling Jeffo’s name.

‘Then we’ve got to get to And’s,’ said Cal, rolling his eyes, the mere mention of Andy’s name enough to irritate him further: ‘Pick him up, then get the dog back up to the barns; get everything cleaned up, run the dog and take some air out of it; make sure we’re not late for the meet at The Bull. Andy can keep an eye on things till we get back.’ Cal glanced in his mirror again, catching Stevo staring back at him. ‘What the fuck are you gawping at?’

Stevo looked away, not wanting Cal to see the hate in his eyes. He imagined punching him in the back of the head; make him crash the car and have done with it. Fuck them and their stinking match.

Frank finished rolling a large joint and lit it. Smoke swamped the car, the sweetness of the skunk overpowering and sickly.

‘I was crapping it there for a minute, Cal,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t happy bullshitting like that on the phone, telling Northern we were all done and dusted. We could’ve been right in the shit tonight. Especially now they’re coming early. It better all be ready to kick off by eight like they want it.’

He took another long pull on the joint, reflecting on why there had been a last-minute change of plan.

‘Applying a bit of pressure, ain’t they?’ His eye were already bloodshot as he looked over at Cal. ‘Seeing how we handle ourselves, whether we’re up to it or not. If they get wind of the fuck-ups we’ve been making, it’s over.’

‘Relax, you’re worrying too much,’ said Cal. ‘We still had Mugger. No sweat.’

‘We’ve lucked out, mate, and you fucking know it. This is Mick we’re talking about: the proper big boys. Running round like twats ain’t the way to be playing it. It was all meant to be nice and easy. The last couple of days have been bollocks. It’s made me think.’

‘Made you think what?’ Cal demanded.

‘About what’ll happen to both of us if anything else goes wrong. And I don’t just mean tonight. I told you from the start there was no room for mistakes on this one, and that goes for what happens after. This is all about the long run.’ Frank’s eyes narrowed as he took another toke, blowing the smoke in Cal’s direction. ‘And we’re falling over before we’ve even reached the first fucking fence.’

Cal didn’t want to hear it, and concentrated on the road. The last thing they needed was to be backbiting amongst themselves. There was still too much to do.

‘If you’ve got a problem, Frank, you have a go at Stevo. He’s the one that nearly dumped us in it, not me.’

‘Yeah, and why’s that, then?’

‘What the fuck’s that meant to mean?’

‘’Cos he knows too fucking much, don’t he? Just ’cos he’s Sandra’s, you treat him like he’s one of the lads. Well, he ain’t. He’s just an arsehole kid with a big fucking gob on him.’ Frank switched on the radio, turning it up loud. ‘This deal is different,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘And I’m not about to let some kid fuck it for me. A bit of dealing’s one thing, but this is bigger; you know it is. Fuck knows what else he’s been telling. I want him kept out of it.’

Cal knew he was right: Stevo was a liability, unable to keep his mouth shut about anything. It was making him dangerous to them; his mate nicking the dog was the last straw. He took another look at him in the mirror, unsurprised to see the weak little bastard sitting with his head down, shoulders hunched, looking broken. He should have blackened both his eyes.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he said, turning off the radio to make sure Stevo heard him. ‘He can plod the fucking streets for all I care. Life’s going to get shit for him from now on. That’s a promise.’

‘What about that kid and his dad, though?’ Frank offered Cal the smoke. ‘What if they talk?’

‘They’re the least of our worries,’ Cal shook his head at both the question and the joint. ‘They think it’s being sold. No laws against that. And you saw that kid’s dad: fucking pissant. We won’t be hearing from them again, will we, fella?’

‘They don’t know nothing,’ answered Stevo, the sullenness in his voice hiding his uncertainty. He didn’t have a clue what Tom and his dad might do. ‘Safe, innit?’

‘Well, there you go, then,’ said Cal. ‘We can all stop acting like pussies. Everything’s back in order, Frank. And it’s going to stay that way.’

When they reached the house, Cal turned to Stevo. ‘You: out,’ he said, before getting out of the car himself and leaning back in through the open window. ‘I’ll just be a minute, Frank. I need to get him and Sandra organised. I don’t want them at home tonight.’

‘Fair play,’ said Frank. ‘Make it quick.’

‘Sandra,’ shouted Cal up the stairs as he shoved Stevo into the kitchen. ‘Get yourself down here.’

Sandra came down wrapped in a towel, pulling a brush through her damp hair.

‘I want you to get over to your mum’s,’ said Cal, an eye on Stevo fidgeting at the kitchen table. ‘And take him with you. Just for tonight. I’ll give you a shout in the morning. When it’s done.’

‘What time are you and Frank off?’

‘We’re going up now to get things set up. Got a shitload to sort before meeting these guys for seven. Frank’s already in the car.’

Cal pulled Sandra to him. He could see the worry in her eyes as she looked up at him.

‘Everything’s sorted,’ he said, reassuring her with a smile. He drew her close to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear: ‘I just want you and Stevo out the way, okay? Just in case. I need you to keep an eye on him for me.’

Pulling away, Cal ran up to the bedroom, picking up his cash from its hiding place at the back of the wardrobe. When he came back into the kitchen, he looked slightly on edge.

‘You clean those kennels out whilst your mum’s getting herself ready,’ he snapped at Stevo. ‘Change the bedding and get them in enough food to last to tomorrow. Think you can manage that without fucking it? Don’t need your little mate to help?’

‘Yeah,’ said Stevo not daring to look at him. ‘I mean, no. I’ll do it.’

‘Right, then. I better be getting off. Wish us luck, darling.’ He put his arm around Sandra as she walked him to the door. ‘Get this over and done with, and we’re set. It’s going to be everything we talked about. It all begins tomorrow.’

‘Be careful, Cal. Don’t do anything—’

‘No worries,’ he said, turning and giving her a lingering kiss. ‘Get to your mum’s as soon as you can.’

‘Come on, we haven’t got all day, mate,’ called Frank through the window as Cal trotted back to the car.

They drove on in silence, winding their way into the grim back streets of the White Tower estate, finally approaching the worst of the rundown housing. Seeing the place that had trapped him as a child only made Cal more determined to break free for good: Spain, Florida, just like they’d talked about, as far away as they could get. Leave Stevo behind with Sandra’s mum and follow their dream of a new life, just the two of them.

Parking just beyond the tired, grey high-rise that gave the estate its name, Cal pulled the wads of cash from the waist of his jeans and handed them to Frank, who thumbed the edges of the notes before stashing them in the glove compartment. Cal picked up his phone from the dashboard and dialled, but there was no reply.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ he said angrily, nodding at the glove compartment as he opened his door. ‘Keep your eye on that, Frank. I won’t be long.’

He walked to the tower block entrance. The elevator had been vandalised and was out of order, forcing him to climb ten floors, the stairwells piled high with overflowing bin bags, reeking of stale piss. Making it out onto the landing, he leant over the railing and sucked in some fresh air before heading down the row of flats that were as boarded up and covered with graffiti as the houses below. He was still breathing hard when he banged on Andy’s door.

‘Andy!’ he shouted through the broken letterbox. ‘Get a fucking move on.’

There was no response. Having to track down Andy was the last thing Cal needed, and he pounded on the door again. The longer he waited, the more he felt like kicking it in.

‘Fuck it.’

Just as he was about to leave, the door opened. Andy emerged from the gloom dressed in a T-shirt and baggy, stained underpants, one hand scratching his backside, the other his head.

‘Alright Cal,’ he yawned, his sunken eyes bloodshot slits. ‘Bit early, innit?’

‘Bit early? I’m fucking late, you idiot. What the fuck d’you think you’re playing at?’

‘Oh shit …’ Andy’s eyes widened. ‘I must’ve overslept. Got a bit lashed last night. I’m really sorry, mate. Give us a minute to get changed. I’ll be quick.’

Cal followed Andy into the grimy flat, kicking the empty beer cans and pizza boxes strewn on the floor out of his way as Andy shuffled off to get some clothes on.

‘What happened, then, Cal?’ he called from the bedroom, ‘What held you up?’

‘We were getting the dog back. It’s in the car outside.’

‘Nice one, mate. Where was it?’

‘Don’t matter, just get a move on. And bring your phone.’

Cal surveyed the room, taking in all its filth. The whole place stank of stale body odour and staler food; it was almost as bad as the stairwell. He looked into the squalid kitchen: the basin was overflowing with dirty mugs and plates, while empty tins and takeaway boxes festered on the benchtops.

‘This place is a fucking pigsty, And. How can you live like this?’

‘Could use a bit of tarting up, couldn’t it?’

A plate piled high with cigarette ends sat on the torn arm of the sofa, spilt ash trodden into the rough carpet around it. And there, under the window, Cal noticed it: a discarded square of tin foil, a giveaway black streak down its centre. He wondered what else could go wrong. If Andy had started using, he was finished. Selling the gear was one thing, cutting it another, but Cal couldn’t trust anyone who was taking it, especially now that everything had to be tight. If he hadn’t needed his help at the fight, he would have done him there and then.

‘You twat,’ he said under his breath. Dealing with Andy would have to wait, but his days were numbered.

‘Ready, then, Cal.’

Andy reappeared dressed in his usual grubby jeans and hooded top. He was getting skinnier by the day, his smelly clothes even more loosely fitting than usual, practically dripping off him. His glasses made him look twice as bug-eyed when he got round to slipping them on.

‘Let’s get going,’ said Cal, hiding his contempt with the faintest of smiles. ‘Frank’s waiting.’

The drive took longer than expected, the traffic heavier than normal. Cal was on edge, keeping quiet as Frank and Andy smoked and chatted, doing his best to block out their mindless, stoned ramblings as he attempted to organise events in his head. It was a relief to reach the barns and get out of the smoke-filled motor.

‘Andy. Get the dog out and get him going on the treadmill. Run him hard.’

Andy opened the boot and put Jeffo on the leash, pulling him out of the car with a jerk. Realising where he was, Jeffo began to struggle again, but only succeeded in tightening the chain around his neck and angering Andy, who dragged him into the exercise barn.

‘Give us a hand in here, Frank. Help us get the dog harnessed, yeah?’

Frank broke from his conversation with Cal and walked into the barn. He picked up Jeffo and placed him roughly on the runners, holding him tight as Andy strapped him in. Once he was fixed in position, Frank took hold of his head and squeezed his fingers tight around the jaws, forcing them together. He put his lips to Jeffo’s forehead as though he were about to kiss him, then bit down hard on the skin on top of his head, his teeth breaking the thin flesh. Frank laughed when Jeffo let out a muffled squeal and attempted to pull away.

‘You’ll be getting worse than that tonight, mate,’ he said, giving him a stinging slap as he released his grip. ‘Tough as piss, ain’t ya? Now, run, you bastard.’

Jeffo didn’t need any further encouragement and began to trot on the spot, taking just a moment to find his feet and steady himself as the runway spun beneath him. He quickly picked up speed.

‘Keep it going at that pace,’ ordered Frank. ‘I’m going to help Cal sort out the other barn and the pit. Don’t let it slack.’

Once Frank had left, Andy rolled himself a joint, keeping a careful eye on the dog running in front of him as he smoked. After about twenty minutes, Cal came into the barn.

‘Me and Frank are going to make a move. Got some things to sort before the meet.’

Cal looked at Jeffo racing on the spot. The treadmill’s wooden frame was rattling loudly around him and he was beginning to tire, his gaping mouth and lolling tongue starting to foam.

‘He’s almost done,’ he said. He didn’t want to totally exhaust him, just tire him enough to ensure Mick’s dog wouldn’t have too much trouble. ‘Slow him down for five minutes, then water him and get him back in his cage, rest him up.’

‘No worries, Cal.’

‘We’re going to be starting earlier than planned. There’s still some stuff to do in the pit barn. When you’re finished in here, get it sorted. I want it looking good.’

Andy nodded. ‘How long have we got?’

‘All afternoon. Should be back at about seven-thirty, if they’re on time. Keep an eye on everything. At five, I want you to salt the dog, make sure its guts are empty. Once you’ve done that, shit it. If it won’t go on its own, shove a piece of straw up its arse. I don’t want it fouling the pit.’