A Fifth of Bruen: Early Fiction of Ken Bruen
- Автор: Бруен Кен
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Busted Flush Press
- ISBN: 978-0-9767157-2-6
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «A Fifth of Bruen: Early Fiction of Ken Bruen». Краткое содержание книги:
A faintness hit him and he felt his knees go. Rusty gazed at him with concern. He put his hands against a wall and force-kicked himself back to strength.
Kendra was diabetic. For her first year, he’d given her the insulin shots and she cried every time. It had torn the heart from him then, it did the same now. Feeling steadier, he made his way home, the dog eyed him carefully.
Back home, he got the vodka bottle and drank deep... it burned and roared down his throat. But it took near instant effect, he walloped another blast and sat down. The scene would replay now... now or in his dreams. He didn’t fight it.
It was a year ago. Liz had rung, warm and friendly. She asked if he wished to re-establish his links with Kendra. He’d taken Liz out to dinner and she’d been coy then flirtatious. They’d gone back to his place. No sooner in the door than she’d clung to him, whispering,
“Make love to me, darling, do it now.”
He did.
Afterwards, they were entwined on the couch and Liz, nigh drunk with afterglow asked,
“Was it good for you, sweetheart?”
“Well, Liz, it was about how I expected.”
She’d pulled away, stunned and finally said,
“What exactly is that supposed to mean, Thomas?”
“It means you get to feel what I felt the day you came to me in prison... you get to feel fucked.”
She’d risen and gone to the bathroom. Emerging, she said in a clear cold voice,
“The man your daughter calls daddy, he’s been showing her a little of what you just now so elegantly described.”
And she’d stormed out. It took some minutes for the total implication to hit him. He took after her but she’d gone. He knew now he might well have killed her then.
Shortly after, he’d found the shotgun on one of his jobs. He’d once heard that a person gets two chances to partake in the very glory of God. Once in teenage years and secondly, in the mid 40s. He’d reckoned he could have left the gun there. Each time he polished and oiled the weapon, he was glad he’d taken it,
Kendra’s birthday was due shortly and he felt that day would be appropriate.
As he relived this now, tears coursed down his face and sobs broke from him. The dog lay at his feet and whimpered. They stayed thus until a long time after the light had gone.
Periodically, the man’s hand strayed to the dog’s head and rubbed him behind the ears.
On the other side of London, a little girl tossed and turned in her sleep. Her mother stood in the doorway, dragged viciously on a cigarette and thought evil and brutal thoughts.
The smoke hung above her head like a shroud of morning mist. An angle of the darkness was like an omen of destruction.
Come morning, Tom moved from the chair and did an inventory.
“What have I got Rusty, eh well lets see
1. An attitude.
2. A broken cross.
3. Nearly a beard.
And I’ve got you Rusty, that’s good, that’s really good, so how about I feed you.
As he watched the dog eat, for reasons linked to things he couldn’t articulate, he quoted a line from a book by a young Indian writer, Ferdie Kanga,
“In Bombay there lives a rumour that walks in disguise as a fact.”
Terry and Bill were in the breakage business. Human breakage. They were known as “the bone breakers”. Both in their late 40s, they could pass for twins. Describe one, you described both.
Potbellied
Balding
Medium height
Merry twinkling eyes
Broken noses
Cockney accents.
They weren’t cockneys. From Romford they’d gravitated to the East end and adopted the usual history. Like so many minor villains, they claimed to have known the Krays. It was a mandatory requirement.
“Yea, sure, knew ole Reg, salt of the earth, loved his old Mum he did.”
In the “Rent-a-Hug” industry, they were prominent. Recently, they’d hired out to the drug market and come in contact with Robert Colbert.
They were having a drink with him in a quiet pub in Docklands. Robert’s nose was nearly permanently running. A tell tale sign of the chronic coke abuser. He swiped at it and said,
“Can’t seem to shake this cold.”
The boys exchanged looks, Terry said,
“Oughta get yerself some of them lemsips, son, they’ll see you right, watcher think Bill, them lemsips help him?”
“Oh yea, be right as rain tomorrow, me old Dad swears by ’em.”
Robert ordered a fresh round of drinks and said,
“I’m putting the finishing touches to a deal and if it comes through, there’ll be plenty of gravy in it for you boys.”
“Gravy...” said Terry.
“Thing is, I’ve got a slight problem. My missus, she’s threatening her... her ex-husband on me.”
“Big bloke is he?”
“Ard he is.”
“Oh he thinks he’s tough just because he’s been inside.”
“Well Mr. C, how about if Bill and I go round and have a bit of a chin wag with him, how would that be?”
“Yea, Mr C... give him a word to the wise.”
Robert beamed, took out an envelope and laid it on the table. He said,
“Capital, it just so happens I have his place of residence at hand and a little something for you boys. A drink in it for you.”
Terry took the envelope, looked inside, looked at Bill, raised one eyebrow. He said,
“Very generous Mr C, very white of you. We’ll drop round on (he looked in the envelope again)... young Tom this very afternoon. You’ve nowt planned, Bill do you... free are you?”
Bill gave a huge smile.
“No Terry, all free this after as it happens.”
A worried look crossed Robert’s face.
“Am... nothing too physical boys, just so as he gets message.”
“No need to fret Mr C, we’ll just have a bit of a chin wag, have a nice cup of tea ’n’ all. Eh Bill, wotcher think.”
“Yea, a nice cup of tea... maybe a couple of biccies eh.”
Robert drained his drink, sniffed and got up to leave.
“I can expect a progress report then.”
“Yea.”
After he left, one or both said, “Wanker.”
Robbie rang the Korean and hyped on Coke, he felt he had the deal almost clinched. A few more weeks and he’d kiss them all goodbye. He was fuelling the coke with chain cups of hot black espresso. The adrenalin suggested he ring Liz, his estranged wife. She answered on the first ring.
“Liz, listen sweetheart, just to let you know the cheque is in the mail (he thought, and pigs might friggin’ fly).”
“It better be.”
“Now now darlin, that sounds suspiciously like a threat.”
“You can bank on it, you won’t like Tom, oh no... you won’t like Tom at all.”
“What? The convict, oh honeybunch, I don’t think we need worry about him. Some colleagues of mine are due to have a little chat with our boy.”
“Those cockney cowboys, the two fat assholes you hang out with. He’ll eat them for breakfast.”
“We’ll see, shall we sweetheart... how is Kendra?”
The phone slammed down.
Robbie smiled and said,
“And nice talking to you.”
He felt his time had come. All the loose strands were about to be nailed down. A little celebration was in order.
Robbie opened his top drawer and took out a walkman. Ran his fingers through the cassettes and selected Neil Young. A gun catalogue lay under the tapes. He loaded up Neil Young, turned the volume to maximum and began to look through the catalogue.
The coke in tandem with the music nearly lifted him out of his seat. He could feel the beat to the core of his soul and stabbed at the air with his right fist.