Underdog (16 page)

Cal thought for a moment, wondering if he had missed anything. All seemed to be in order. His only worry was Andy, who was looking distinctly vacant.

‘If there’s anything I need to know about, you give us a call. Got it?’

‘Yeah, Cal,’ Andy replied in a monotone drawl. ‘Don’t worry, mate. Everything’ll be ready. You can rely on me.’

‘No fucking about,’ Cal warned as he left. ‘Go easy on that weed.’

Andy waited until he could hear the car start. He slowed Jeffo down and slipped the harness, putting him on the leash to lead him back to the kennel barn; Jeffo was too tired to put up any kind of struggle.

‘Shut it!’ he shouted as he swung open the door to a chorus of barking. ‘Shut the fuck up.’ It didn’t make a blind bit of difference.

Leading Jeffo towards the swim barrel, he tied him down and thoroughly washed him off before chaining him inside the second of the empty cages. He looked at his watch: more than enough time for a quick fix before finishing off in the other barn.

Jeffo huddled into a ball at the back of the cage, still panting for air with his tongue flopped over the side of his jaw, his eyes wide and staring. Andy thought he looked pathetic.

‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes tonight,’ he remarked, wondering if this excuse of a dog in front of him would put up any kind of fight in the pit, or simply lay down and die. He turned to leave. ‘You look fucked already. Just don’t let Cal down, whatever you do,’ he added, slamming the door shut behind him.

‘What time you got?’ Cal asked as he turned into The Bull’s car park and parked down at the far end. Apart from a couple of cars, it was pretty much empty.

 ‘Nearly seven,’ answered Frank. ‘Nice and early. Want a bit of this?’ He offered up the joint.

‘No. I need to clear my head.’ Cal looked at Frank, who seemed a bit too stoned. ‘And so should you. There’ll be time enough for getting out of it once we’re done. Go easy, eh?’

‘Not going soft on us, are you, Cal?’

Cal didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he checked out the car park entrance in his mirrors. Leaning over, he opened the glove compartment and took out a wad of the cash, stripping off two thousand pounds in fifties, which he folded and put in his pocket.

‘I don’t want any more of that handed over until we’ve seen the drugs,’ he said as he put the rest of the money back.

‘I can’t promise that, Cal.’ Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t look so surprised, mate. You’ll understand once you’ve met Mick. Whatever he says tonight, goes. We’re just going to have to go along with it all and do what we’re told.’

‘What if he doesn’t bring the gear?’

‘They ain’t coming to fuck about, Cal. Course they’ll have the gear. The only way we won’t get our hands on it is if we dick them around. Northern and Mick might be a lot of things, but they ain’t piss artists. Mick didn’t get a reputation like his by being a shitter. Just stop worrying. As long as your dog looks the part and gives Mick’s a good roll, we’re sorted.’

Handing over the cash without seeing what they were buying hadn’t occurred to Cal. It made him feel uneasy, as though even more control was being taken from him. But however much it pissed him off, it was too late to start arguing.

‘When they get here, you let me do the talking,’ added Frank. ‘I’m not trying to tread on your toes here, Cal. It’s not a fucking competition: see who’s got the biggest bollocks. We’re in this together. Let’s just get tonight over as best we can.’ Stubbing out the roach, he lowered his window and tossed it outside. ‘They don’t call Mick “The Waltz” for nothing, you know. I just want to do our bit, let him know we’re okay, and send him on his way, happy as we can. Get the gear and get rid of the fucker. After tonight, we won’t be seeing him again; we’ll only be dealing with Northern. Things’ll be a lot more relaxed.’ Frank paused for a moment as he eyed Cal next to him. ‘Unless we start fucking things up again.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Cal, ignoring the dig. ‘But don’t forget the reason we’re sitting here. It’s the dogs that are going to seal this: in blood. Mick and Northern wouldn’t be giving us the time of day otherwise.’ Cal patted his pocket. ‘I just don’t like the idea of anyone getting their hands on my money with nothing up front for it, that’s all.’

‘I understand that, mate. But over a third of that money’s mine and without my connection we wouldn’t be sitting here either. So get real. We’ve just got to play it a little different on this one. I ain’t taking any chances that Mick’ll be waltzing with me round the barns tonight, or any other fucking night.’

‘Those stories are bullshit,’ said Cal, his statement more a question; he wanted to see exactly what Frank knew.

‘Well, it ain’t because he had dancing lessons.’ Frank laughed as he contemplated the idea. ‘You’ll know it when you see him. The word is, Mick was a natural street fighter, one of the best and hard as fuck. He was fighting big men when he wasn’t much more than a kid. The damage he used to do with his fists got him noticed, connected. He was on top in his twenties, mate. Think about that. He’s been running things for the best part of twenty years. People only have to hear his name and they shit it.’

‘Yeah, sure. I’ve heard he’s a nasty bastard. I just don’t get the dancing thing. Makes him sound like a fucking poof.’

‘You obviously ain’t heard the half of it,’ said Frank, winding up his window to stop the rain drizzling in. He was just about to continue when a battered black Range Rover rolled into the car park. ‘Aye, aye. Here we go.’

It wasn’t what Cal had expected; from what Frank had told him, he half imagined they would be turning up in a limo. The Range Rover was followed by a silver Mercedes Estate, the two vehicles parking alongside one another in the lined bays behind them.

‘We’re on,’ said Frank, his voice tense. He looked at Cal. ‘This is it, then, mate. No turning back.’

Cal brushed himself down as he got out of the car, making sure his lucky ‘dog head’ cufflinks were straight and secure before walking over with Frank to the two cars. As they approached, the rear door of the Range Rover opened and a man got out.

Cal studied the stocky man shaking hands with Frank. He was young, no more than thirty, his clean-cut looks a surprise, sharply contrasting with his prison build. His slightly thinning hair was neat and parted to the right, away from the sharp features of his face, and he was smartly dressed in grey suit trousers and a short-sleeved blue cotton shirt that showed off a pair of wiry forearms. He looked like he could handle himself.

‘Northern Jack, this is Cal,’ said Frank.

Northern’s grip was firm, Cal noticed, his hands large for his size.

‘Your dog, is it?’

‘That’s right.’

Northern stared hard at Cal, sizing him up with an unnerving coolness. His pupils were unusually large, making his eyes seem quite black, his whole expression cloaked in a threatening self-assurance. It was how Cal liked to imagine himself, only it was far more practised and polished.

‘Looking forward to a bit of a show tonight. Trust you lads won’t let us down,’ Northern said softly, smiling without a trace of friendliness. ‘Come and say hello to Mick.’

The three men moved towards the Range Rover. As they approached, the tinted passenger window lowered, revealing a mountain of a man sitting cramped in his seat, making the rest of the car, and its other occupants, look small. He thrust out the biggest hand Cal had ever seen. A massive gold-chain bracelet was wound tight around his wrist, with thick gold rings on each huge finger. The cufflinks on his smart pin-striped silk shirt were diamond studded.

‘Frank and Cal, Mick,’ said Northern in his soft voice.

As they shook hands, Cal felt the massively distended and calloused knuckles, each cracked and swollen from years of use, so deformed by violence they looked arthritic.

Mick nodded his large, shaved head; his wide forehead tapered to a veined and dented crown. His eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses perched on the flared bulb of his nose, its bridge so smashed into his face that it was sunken parallel with his cheeks. The nasal drone that came out of his mouth added to his brogue, making it hard to understand him when he spoke.

‘Nice to see you, lads,’ he said crustily. ‘Been lookin’ forward to this.’

Mick turned to Cal, this slight movement of his head somehow impressive on his massive neck. It bulged out from beneath cauliflower ears, widening behind the block of his jaw and disappearing under the crisp white collar of his shirt. He was wearing what looked like a large gold dog chain; Cal half expected to see a name tag hanging from it. For a man well into his forties, Mick was a fearsome specimen.

‘Northern reckons you know your shit. Said you do some good stuff down here. It’ll be nice to see some of it.’ He nodded over his shoulder at the gang of heavies in the back. ‘These are the lads.’

Cal cast a glance at the three men squeezed into the rest of the vehicle, all of whom remained respectfully silent whilst Mick was talking. To a man they looked hard, Cal figuring they must be his crew rather than associates.

‘The wife and kids are in the other motor,’ said Mick. ‘My boys love a good match. Dogs teach ’em a thing or two, eh? Toughens ’em up.’ He raised his voice. ‘Don’t it, Taser?’

As if on command, a dog started barking. It jumped up, its head and shoulders coming into view behind the rear seat grill as it clawed and bit at it.

Cal looked through the back window, casting an eye over the tan and white dog, the patches on its face matching the whiteness of a dangerous set of fangs.

‘Hope he’ll be good enough for yours,’ added Mick, the grin on his face peeling back his lips to reveal a missing front tooth. He nudged the man next to him. ‘Sort me out.’

Without a word, his driver dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved a clear plastic bag containing a large cube of cocaine. Shuffling in his seat, he brought out a cutthroat razor from his jeans pocket, using it to cut a crumbling sliver from the white block, which he then chopped into a generous line on the dashboard.

‘Can’t beat the puro,’ said Mick as he bent his substantial frame forward, then jerked back in his seat as though he had been hit in the stomach. ‘Fucking thing.’

He reached down to his waist and pulled a large chrome-plated handgun from the front of his trousers. Placing it next to the line of coke, he leant forward again and snuffled up the drugs. He looked and sounded like an overgrown hog, stuffing its face at a trough. The time it took him to snort the line, and the noise he made whilst doing so, confirmed the uselessness of his nose. Cal wondered when Mick had last been able to breathe through it properly and what kind of violence had ended its functionality, this reminding him of Frank’s unfinished story.

‘Looks good,’ said Cal, keeping his eye on the dog, pretending not to have noticed the gun.

The look of the animal worried him almost as much as the weapon. Taser was larger than he was expecting, and the deep scars around his broad face and small black eyes were proof of his experience: a muzzle fighter carefully trained to go for the snout and bleed the fight out of an opponent early on. The snarling curve of the jaw muscles closing around his perfect bite showed he was already well pumped up.

Cal was in no doubt he was looking at a potential grand champion, and it made him realise that he had underestimated Mick’s prowess and knowledge of the game. He thought about the dog back at the barns, suddenly unsure if it would last as long as he needed it to, wondering if it would be wiser to use Mugger after all.

‘Want to give him a good work-out, need to get all that training out of him. See if it’s been worth it,’ said Mick, speaking over the dog still barking behind him. ‘Enough!’ he suddenly growled, not bothering to turn his head. The unexpected boom of his voice silenced the dog and it stood down, out of sight. ‘You got the money?’

‘Yeah,’ said Frank. ‘We’re all ready, Mick. No worries.’

‘You got the drugs?’ Cal couldn’t help himself.

At once, Frank shifted uneasily beside him. Even through the dark glasses, Cal could sense Mick’s eyes burning straight into him. Then, to his relief, Mick’s thin-lipped mouth cracked into a grin.

‘I like it. D’you hear that, Northern?’ He faked a laugh, turning his head to the lads in the back, who started laughing with him.

‘Yeah, Mick,’ answered Northern, his face typically expressionless. ‘Comedians.’

Mick paused. He dropped the grin and sat silently, not moving a muscle. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but firm with authority.

‘You just get us to where we’re going,’ he said. ‘We can sort all that shit out later.’

‘Alright, lads,’ jumped in Frank, before Cal had another chance to put his foot in it. ‘No point hanging about.’

‘Just us, then, Frank?’ asked Northern.

‘There’s someone up there at the moment, looking after the place, getting the dog ready. There’ll only be a couple of others and a few of the boys we want to get started. They’ll meet us up there.’

‘What about the door?’

‘It’s all taken care of,’ said Cal. ‘There won’t be any problems.’

Northern Jack fixed his black stare on him. ‘Glad to hear it. Lead the way.’

Frank and Cal headed back to the car. They got in and waited, watching as Northern got back into the motor behind them. Cal made sure the cars were following as he turned out of the car park.

‘So what d’you reckon?’ asked Frank.

‘Big, ain’t he?’ Cal checked his mirrors again, trying to seem unfazed. ‘And that dog looked top. He knows what he’s doing.’

‘You wait till you see him out the car. He’s fucking King Kong. Just not so friendly.’

‘I still want to see the gear.’

‘Relax,’ said Frank, already skinning up. ‘I thought you were going to fuck it when you mentioned it back there. They haven’t come all this way to rip us off. What’d be the point? We haven’t had to hand anything over yet, have we? Let’s just see how it goes. The thing we need to worry about is this fight going to plan.’

‘So let’s hear it,’ said Cal as they drove on out of town. ‘The big finish to your story.’

‘What, about Mick?’

‘Yeah. You said I didn’t know the half of it.’

‘Sure you can handle it, just before matching up with him?’

‘Go on.’

Frank lit his joint, pulling hard on it and composing himself before carrying on.

‘They call him “The Waltz” ’cos of the killings,’ he said through a cloud of smoke. ‘Did two blokes in the ring, all to impress some geezer who was the boss back then: someone he eventually took over. Made the bloke disappear, didn’t he?’

‘Probably ate the fucker,’ said Cal. He put his hand out for the joint, suddenly feeling like he could use a hit. ‘And?’

‘Mick’s winning this fight easy, yeah? Knocks his opponent out cold, then starts taking the piss by dancing around him as he’s laid out on the floor. Crowd’s having a laugh, loving it. Then out of the blue, he stamps his face in. All for a favour and a fucking bet.’

Cal was starting to realise why Frank was so keen to let things take their course, to let Mick run things how he wanted. Fuck it: if Taser killed the dog too quick, he’d offer him Mugger as well.

‘The other one was just with his fists,’ Frank continued. ‘Fair and square, smashed the geezer’s face to jelly and just kept going. When it was all over, he picks the body up off the floor and starts dancing around with it, going berserk. Took them ten minutes to get the bloke off him, but it was well too late. Dead as a fucking doornail. That’s why he’s tagged with “The Waltz”, mate. He’s a fucked-up psycho.’

Cal let it all sink in before he finally spoke, wondering if Frank was ribbing him, the smile on his face suggesting as much. ‘That’s a load of bullshit,’ he said nervously, taking another toke on the joint and handing it back.