Wee Rockets (28 page)

"You sound like you're still in bed, you lanky string of piss."

"All right, Danny? What's the craic?"

"I've been thinking about last night."

"Ach, mate, just forget about it. Liam's a wanker, and if the rest of them want to lick his balls we're better off without them."

"Aye, I know."

"So why are you calling me at this time of the morning?"

"It's lunchtime, you lazy bastard. Get out of your scratcher."

"Just tell me what you want."

"I want to meet your da."

"What? Why?"

"Because he sounds like the kind of guy I'd like to work for."

Nothing drew the crowds like a child's funeral. Even a scummy wee fourteen-year-old thug of a child.

Stephen didn't look out of place standing at the back of the chapel. The pews had been jam-packed when he'd arrived at St Paul's and now the aisles were filling up. His spot by the big wooden double-door gave him the best view of the mourners, both seated and arriving. He thought he'd be able to tell the Rockets from the nosy schoolmates. The palest, nerviest kids would top his list of suspects. Those with fascinated and darting eyes would be crossed off.

One of the first kids Stephen noticed sat close to the back. At every creak of the main door's hinges, his head swivelled on a thick neck spilling over a stiff white collar. Stephen remembered the cheeky fat fucker giving him lip the Saturday after poor wee Missus McKinney got mugged. Joe and Wee Danny Gibson had come along and saved the dickhead from a good punch in the head that day. He made a mental note to ask Joe about him.

According to Louise's text an hour ago, she'd be attending the funeral with Joe. He wasn't surprised that he couldn't spot her in the crowd. Running late came easy to her. She seemed to enjoy it. At this stage she'd be spending the service outside in the rain. She'd forget her umbrella too.

The people in front of him obscured his view of the white coffin at the top of the aisle and that was fine. He wasn't there to pay his respects. The little scumbag didn't deserve his sympathy, but Stephen couldn't help but feel bothered by the sight of a coffin that size. Whether or not the wee lad deserved it, he still found the scene depressing.

The organ accompanied the sullen choir and tears rolled. The priest's rumbling voice bounced around the chapel walls. Stephen fidgeted. He checked his watch at five minute intervals, bored now that he couldn't scope out prospective targets. He was eager for the service to end so he could get out into the air and get a good look at the guilty-faced kids. Especially any gravitating towards Joe's fat friend. He bowed his head respectfully and yawned into his hand. As soon as the queues to receive communion formed, he slipped out into the fresh air.

"Stephen!" Louise waved at him with more enthusiasm than the occasion called for. She didn't seem to notice the dirty look from the biddy beside her. Joe loomed to her right, dressed in new trousers that actually met his shoes. But even in the funeral-standard black tie and white shirt his hassled teenage face dashed his best chance at looking smart. He scratched at his head, obviously missing his baseball cap. Stephen plastered on a smile for Louise's benefit as he fantasised about shaking Joe until his teeth chattered.

"Hiya, Louise. Did you get held up?"

She smirked, "Yeah. What am I like? I'd be late for my own fu..." The sentence drifted off. She glanced at Joe then turned back to Stephen. "Anyway, it's a huge turnout, isn't it?"

"Aye. Must have been a popular kid."

Joe grunted.

Stephen ignored him. "What do you say we make our way up to the City Cemetery? It's hardly raining at all now and we'll be there before the hearse if we get a bit of a head start."

Louise scraped her fingers through her damp hair. "Aye, we might as well."

"Can I stop off at ours and get changed?" Joe asked. "This tie's choking me."

"No you can not. Catch a grip. Just wait until after Tommy's been buried."

The disapproving biddy cleared her throat. Stephen nodded to her but Louise focussed on Joe, waiting to shut down any argument he might make.

"Right, okay," Joe said.

On their way up the road, Stephen could feel Joe's eyes on the back of his head. The lanky teenager straggled behind to avoid conversation. Stephen reached out for Louise's hand just to wind the bastard up. She squeezed his fingers and smiled at him. His chest hitched a little. He gave her a wink and raised her knuckles to his lips and almost forgot about Joe.

Typically schizophrenic, the sun put on its happy face and chased away the rain. Stephen shrugged off his jacket and carried it over his shoulder but suppressed the urge to whistle. The three of them instinctively slowed their pace, making the most of the brief summery moment. The City Cemetery gate came into view, and much too soon they passed through it and found the freshly dug hole.

Louise nudged him. "Oh, there's Missus Morgan from the bakery. I'll have to go say hello or she'll take the hump with me. I'll be as quick as I can."

Stephen checked out her sway as she joined a bit of mutton in lamb's clothing for a chinwag. No time to waste, he turned to Joe.

"So this Tommy fellah was a mate of yours, then?"

Joe took a moment to compose a poker face. "Aye."

"He was a scumbag, though."

Joe's nostrils flared. His lips barely moved as he spoke. "I've met worse."

"I fucking bet you have."

Joe looked away. The muscles in his jaw flexed.

"In fact, I reckon you can help me, Joe. I'd like to meet a couple of these worse scumbags you know. Actually, I'd be interested in meeting a gang of them."

"Fuck off."

"You see, that's a normal answer in this situation, and I can respect that. But I don't have time to pussyfoot around you. So here's the deal. You give me the name of that fat kid I've seen you hanging about with right now, and I'll leave you alone. If you don't, I'm going to take you up here tonight and bury you beside the Murray kid. A grave this fresh will be a cinch to dig. Easy-fucking-peasy."

Stephen glanced over his shoulder to see Louise still deep in conversation with Missus Morgan. He felt happy with the way things were going. Then he saw Joe's face. The kid's smart mouth curved into a smirk.

"That's all you want? His name? Sure you could ask anybody on Beechmount that. Anybody that matters, like."

"I don't want it from
anybody
. I want it from you."

"And then we're quits?"

"For now."

"What about my ma?"

"She's a great shag."

Joe's smirk slipped for a second and Stephen relished it. But it returned, and seemed genuine. "Whatever. I've seen the way you look at her. You like her. As soon as I can, I'll make sure she dumps you."

"Like I give a fuck about that Millie cunt."

Joe glanced over Stephen's shoulder and raised his eyebrows. "Hiya, ma."

Stephen's stomach flip-flopped and he turned on his heel, already anticipating a slap from Louise. She still stood where he'd last seen her, smoking a fag with her workmate.

Joe chuckled.

By some miracle, Stephen reigned in a burst of white-hot rage and restrained himself from stomping Joe into the ground. He hissed through his teeth. "You little fucker. You'll regret that."

"Mate, quit talking like you're in a movie. Fucking relax, okay?" Joe patted his pockets and located his phone. "Have you got your mobile with you?"

"Why?"

"The sleeked fat fucker I used to chum about with is called Liam Greene. I'm going to give you his phone number."

Stephen could feel the onset of a migraine. "What for?"

"I'm sure it'll come in useful. And Wee Danny is going to love me when I tell him."

From behind, Stephen heard a hurried clip-clopping and took a deep breath. Blood pumped through his muscles, but he tried to relax them. Louise tapped his elbow.

"God, I thought she was never going to stop talking. Were you okay without...? Are you boys swapping numbers? Ach, that's brilliant."

Joe gave her a big, goofy grin. "Aye. Turns out we've more in common than we thought. Isn't that right,
Stevie
?"

A cold raindrop hit the back of Stephen's neck and he raised his eyes to the black clouds above. The heavens opened up and pelted down on them. Louise nodded towards the gate at the bottom of the cemetery's hill. The hearse crept up the path, window wipers swishing.

"Typical, eh?" Louise said. "The day was just starting to look up."

###

Dermot saw Joe and his friend before they saw him. As he approached the entrance to the Movie House cinema on the Dublin Road, the teenagers leant into each other, shielding a lighter's flame from the wind. It always amused him when kids befriended their physical polar opposites. The phenomenon tended to highlight the negative aesthetics, rather than the positive. Joe looked too tall and awkward and his little mate appeared malnourished and weak. They both looked like fish out of water.

"How's the lads?" Dermot bellowed his greeting to give them a start. It worked.

They turned as one, ready to face a threat. Joe blinked then laughed.

"Hiya, da."

"Fuck me, Mister Kelly. I near shit myself."

"Sorry, couldn't resist. Danny isn't it? Joe told me you wanted to meet me. Hope I haven't started off on the wrong foot."

"Ach, no. I can take a bit of banter."

"Good man yourself. How's you, Joe?"

"All right. Bit of a shitty day, like."

"Oh aye?"

"Yeah. It was Tommy's funeral today."

"Shite. You never said. I'd have come along."

"Sure you never knew the guy. No point you getting depressed about him. Anyway, I want to forget about it now. Figured if you hadn't been, we wouldn't have to bring it up."

"Say no more, Joe. So, Danny, what did you boys want to talk to me about? Joe was his usual cagey self on the phone earlier. Maybe you can enlighten me?"

Danny looked up and down the street. "There's an awful lot of people about here. Can we go somewhere?"

"There's a bowling alley not far from here. Not the most private place in the world, but the rumble and clatter makes it hard to listen in on someone's conversation."

"What do you think, Joe?" Danny asked.

"Sounds sweet. But I've never been bowling before."

"It's a piece of piss, son. Good enough craic too."

"Cool," Danny said. "Let's go."

Before Dermot had left for London, the Superbowl on Clarence Street had still been in its childhood. On entering it for the first time in over a decade he found that the years had not been kind to the entertainment complex. A pair of bouncers hovered by the door, their manner cold and no nonsense. Threadbare industrial carpet added little comfort to the hall. A wall of dated arcade machines flickered, flashed, wailed and blared. Kids cursed at them as they pumped pound coins into the hungry slots. A long-haired, bearded man propped himself up at the customer service desk with his back to the public. His interest had been hijacked by the rack of maroon and cream bowling shoes sorted by size. He dangled a small pair by the laces as he gave great thought as to which slot best suited them. The only notable change since Dermot's last visit was the lighting on the alleys. The uneven laminate-floored lanes glowed a hazy blue. The scoreboards proclaimed them modern glow-in-the-dark lanes. Dermot thought they looked like they'd been lit by bug zappers.

"This place is class," Danny said, without an ounce of sarcasm. "All futuristic and all."

"Yeah," Joe said. "Let's get started."

The bearded weirdo hooked them up with freshly deodorised, ill-fitting alley shoes and brought them to their lane. Dermot paid for Joe and Danny and offered to get them a drink from the bar.

"Just a Coke, please," Joe said.

"Want me to put a wee vodka in it?"