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  "A little birdie told me I could find you here, sunshine. Thought I'd call by to see you."

  "Ach, shite."

  The muzzle flashed and thunder boomed. Dermot was blown back into the squat. Gut shot. He writhed on the uncarpeted hallway floor. Then Tony stood over him. He had the urge to plead, but the fire in his belly burned away the words on his tongue. He stared into the twin black circles of the shotgun. Tony bent at the waist and pushed the muzzle into Dermot's mouth.

  "You shouldn't have played with the big boys, you sneaky Irish cunt."

  Thunder rolled. And then it was over.

  Epilogue

  Joe woke up to the rattle, clatter and hiss of his ma cooking breakfast. The smell of frying sausages wafted up the stairs. His mouth watered. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his trackies and a Celtic top. After a long, spine-tingling piss, he shambled down the stairs.

  "Morning, Joe."

  McVeigh sat in the armchair, drinking from Joe's Manchester United mug.

  "Did you stay the night again?" Joe asked.

  McVeigh nodded. The right side of his face sported a fading scar. Joe could almost admit to himself that it suited the bastard.

  "Where's my ma?"

  "She's in the kitchen, son."

  He didn't like McVeigh calling him son. Not one bit. But he bit back a nasty response.

  His ma bustled in carrying a plate stacked with sausages and bacon. No bread. Not even soda.

  "Oh! Morning, Joe. Didn't know you'd surfaced. You looking a wee fry too?"

  "I got up when I smelt the food." He looked pointedly at McVeigh's plate. "Is there any left?"

  "Of course. I'd not let you go without. Stephen doesn't eat bread, so there's extra soda and taty bread as well."

  She disappeared back into the kitchen and got to work with the frying pan. McVeigh forked a sausage and ate half in one bite. Joe thought the ginger bastard looked far too comfortable. He spoke through a mouthful of semi-chewed sausage.

  "So it looks like I'll be moving in with your ma."

  "What?"

  "Aye, I'm going to take her out for dinner tonight and ask her. What we went through the other month with your scumbag da made me realise how much I like her. Well, love her, really."

  McVeigh unleashed a big dopey chortle.

  "Are you winding me up?" Joe asked.

  "Not at all. I'm deadly serious. Going to ask her to move into mine. But I'll move in here if she'd prefer."

  Joe sat on the sofa before his legs could betray him. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because, when she comes home to tell you about the idea, I don't want you giving her that hard-done-by face you always use. I want you to tell her you think it's a great idea."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Because you owe me. Your da's gone. Liam Greene isn't, though, is he? He's still knocking about Beechmount."

  "But he's not dealing or nothing. I've checked up on him."

  "Aye, right." McVeigh sneered. "But even if he's not, it won't be long before he's back at it. I should've known you wouldn't deliver. Too much Dermot Kelly in you."

  Joe sprang off the sofa. "Shut your mouth, you ginger cunt." Aware his ma wasn't far away, he hissed the words. And by some act of God, he stopped himself from swinging a dig at the big prick.

  McVeigh reddened. "And that'll be one of the first rules I'll lay down when you're living under my roof. No cursing. And then, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs, no mates around after ten and no lip."

  "I can't believe this shit."

  "You'll thank me in the long run, kid. You might even have a chance in life if you've someone like me as a role model. Let's face it, you're doing a pretty good job of pissing it all away right now." He jabbed his fork in the air, struck by inspiration. "Here, if we get you off them fucking fags I could get you a trial for the Davitts under-sixteen's. You've the height to be a decent centre-back."

  "Football?"

  "Aye. Doors will start opening for you then. Believe me."

  Joe felt as if the room was spinning.

  His ma returned with his fry. She told him to sit and plopped down beside him on the sofa. While Joe and McVeigh worked through their laptop breakfasts, she had a cuppa and a fag. She smiled at each of them in turn. We're her boys, Joe thought. Fuck.

  "Stephen, is it just the two of us tonight or will we ask Paul and Emily along?" Joe's ma asked.

  McVeigh wiped grease from his lips with the heel of his hand. "Well, her and Dead-Eye Gibson are away for the weekend." He paused. "I wonder how much that's costing him."

  "Shush, you. Emily's lovely. And, call him Paul, will you? You know that name winds him up something shocking. Not to mention how cruel it is. He lost his eye helping you out, you know."

  McVeigh smirked. "Cruel? And what was it when he blew Sinead out for an English whore? When he left her to take care of that mental kid of theirs?"

  Joe's ma shrugged and sucked on her fag. Her lips pinched down on the filter.

  "Anyway," McVeigh said "He's not here to hear me, so what's the harm?"

  She shook her head, fanning puffed smoke in a swirling arc. The smell of it tightened Joe's nicotine-deprived lungs. Before long, his plate was empty. He barely remembered one bite.

  "I'm going to stick the kettle on," he said as he stood. "Anyone want more tea?"

  "Aye, love."

  "Please, son."

  The wanker had fucking called him son again and his ma hadn't even batted an eyelid.

  He plastered on a fake smile. "Coming right up."

  In the kitchen, he lit a fag, leant against the worktop and watched the kettle boil. He couldn't live in the same place as McVeigh. It would drive him mental. Apart from McVeigh being a complete arse in general, he threw the Liam Greene thing in Joe's face every five minutes; a memory he could live without.

  The Liam Greene thing.

  If he'd put more thought into what he'd been doing the night he crashed the party, things could have been different. After a spell in hospital, Liam was back on the street. Joe would have to be on guard every time he went out. And Wee Danny wouldn't be around to back him up for at least a couple of years.

  Joe thought about the big box of rat poison in his bedroom and the powdered bleach in the cupboard under the sink. He thought about how McVeigh took sugar in his tea; one of his rare dietary vices. He thought about how easy it would be to score a few tabs of ecstasy on the street. And how they were small enough to plant on even the most unlikely person. The original mix hadn't been right for that fat bastard, Greene, but with enough time to experiment, who knew?

  He heaped two teaspoons of sugar into one of the cups then spat in it. A drop or two of poison would be as easy. And McVeigh, like all joiners, drank shitloads of tea...

  Something worth considering, at least.

  ###

  Acknowledgements

  Gerard would like to thank the Arts Council of Northern Ireland for their support in writing this novel.

  About the author

  For news, reviews, interviews and lots more about Gerard Brennan and our other great authors, visit Blasted Heath. Sign up to the newsletter and we'll even send you a free book by way of thanks!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

 

 

 
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