Blighted Land: Book two of the Northumbrian Western Series (Northumbrian Westerns 2) (4 page)

‘It was your plan.’

‘Everything is my plan.’ This was something he said a lot.
 

The problem was it was true.
 

Though there was The Committee, who ran the business side of town: the rubbish collection, water supply and electricity. All the dull stuff like paying dockworkers and fixing roads. Although they did all the nuts and bolts of running Faeston, they relied on Round Up to enforce the rules. Keep everyone in line. And Nico had used that to lever up his power. Aside from steering every decision The Committee made, he had all sorts of rackets running on the side. Carte blanche to do what he liked.

‘What’s the something extra?’ I fingered my glass, let it catch the light. This could be one of Nico’s traps, like he’d set for Jackson back in December, the one that had sent him off the quayside with a knife in his side.

‘It’s to do with the other night.’

Gregg laughed. ‘Isn’t everything!’

‘You never did say what happened to the tank or the fella in it,’ I said.

‘No, I never did.’ Nico placed a card, a two of hearts.
 

Gregg groaned and picked up two cards.
 

‘Well,’ said Nico. ‘We have something that needs sorting out.’

‘Such as?’ I took another drink of whisky, felt the burn.

‘Some babysitting, that’s all. No big deal.’ He placed an eight of hearts after Will played a five.

‘And I will get extra for that?’

‘Of course.’

I knocked back the rest of my whisky and took a breath to clear the taste. ‘I need paying for today.’

Nico placed his cards face down and reached into his jacket, drawing out a bag of coins. After counting some out, he slid them across the table to me, the gold glowing in that dim room. Then he put fingers on two of them, dragged them back and put them under his glass. ‘Monday night’s money. Well, we’ll sort that after the babysitting. But I’m docking some for not rounding up. Less Rounding Up, less pay.’

‘Come on Nico.’
 

Then he smiled, a big grin. ‘Only messin’.’ He offered the coins and I slid them into my jacket, a smaller pile than was due. But it added to the stash, the escape fund.
 

The card game restarted and gruff laughter came from upstairs. Gregg placed a three of diamonds and Will a three of spades. None of them paid any attention to me. With my hand on the pocket full of money I left.

Outside I stopped at the top of the steps and counted the coins, away from them and out of sight of the drunks from the Globe. It was well down on what it should have been, just over two-thirds of what I was due. But there was no arguing with Round Up. They set the rules. Owned the town, and me.

As I walked back along High Row I gripped the money, rattling the coins together, as the ships alongside crawled with crew. Even with the under payment I was getting a good war chest. A few more weeks of this and I’d be free to do what I liked. Add in the other night’s pay, Nico’s babysitting and the racing wins, then I’d be set.

But set for what?
 

Was it time to leave Round Up? Leave town?

Maybe it was time to move on.

Taking my hand off the money I headed to Sophie’s, past crews on their way to ships and drunks staggering round, one singing some old song about whisky.
 

S
HE
WAS
ARRANGING
HER
ornaments when I arrived, setting them out on the bookcase. There were ceramic animals, cute kids, a couple of clowns. Useless crap she’d collected from house clearances, junk shops, rubbish tips. They were all lined up, watching me as I sat on Sophie’s settee, the one that pointed at her huge television set. She came over pecked me on the cheek, lipsticked lips on my stubble, her blonde curls falling onto my face. Then she sat down next to me, shimmying up close, so her thigh was pushed against me, her soft flesh.

‘How are you, Trenty?’ she said, putting two fingers on my chin, turning my head so she could look straight at me with her made-up face, full lips and plucked eyebrows. Smooth skin. For all her faults, she was a looker.

I hated her calling me that but it didn’t stop her. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Work okay?’

I shrugged, let her take it as whatever she wanted.

‘I’m quite all right, even though you didn’t ask.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

She turned her head to the side, looked offended, then smiled. ‘Any news?’

‘Some.’

‘Come on!’ She wrapped her arm around mine.

‘Well, there was that thing the other night, The Incident.’ I wanted to see what she made of this, whether it sparked some curiosity in her. See if an armoured vehicle appearing in town unsettled her as much as me.

‘Oh, I know about that.’ Then she leapt up, clapping her hands. ‘I’ve got something to show you!’ At that she was off out of the room, leaving her ornaments to stare at me. I picked up the telly’s remote and thumbed it, knowing that nothing would happen, that it and the TV set were bust and only there for show, not that there were any transmissions now anyway. From the other room I could hear Sophie talking to herself, chucking stuff around.
 

Maybe she’d missed all the fireworks the other night. Or blanked it out. That was something she did with anything too complicated or confusing. Still, she was only young, barely out of her twenties, and did have a lot of energy. That was something I liked about her, her enthusiasm. Always throwing herself into whatever the occasion was. Whatever. Maybe it was the only thing I liked about her.
 

I went across to the window, to the side of the room where she had a bookcase filled with cookbooks. Gulls wheeled around outside, between Sophie’s flat and the warehouses opposite, stacked with clothes and provisions in from the continent. Down the lane two men argued about something and behind them was the harbour where ships moving round. Some setting sail, others coming in.
 

I picked up a book. Put it down: more of Sophie’s junk. She did love all this old shit, and it was a little odd really all the tat she collected, but it worked between us. The thing we had was fun. Enjoying ourselves. I was old enough to be her dad but we laughed and messed around like we were teenagers. Most of the time, at least. And it had been her who’d made the initial moves: she’d picked me up. Just over a year ago when I’d been in the George and Dragon. One Saturday night.
 

I’d finished my shift and was having a quiet drink but a fight started at the far side of the bar.
 

Although I could have left it and just carried on drinking I went over. A big fella from one of the ships had hold of some skinny runt, a weaselly street lad. The punches were flying but weird thing was that the runt was winning. He had the big fella back against the wall, pummelling his face. Fists pumping, landing blow after blow. I got hold of one of the bar staff and together we dragged him off. Managed to steer him to the door. He was so intent on the big fella he barely noticed us. We threw him out of the pub, his hands still clenched and insults pouring out of him. But the barman stood at the door and kept it bolted while he left off his steam out in the cold.
 

I went back to my whisky and that was when the big guy found his balls. He came over to me saying he’d not needed any help and I’d made him look stupid. I’d had a rough day dealing with street kids and smart-arse deckhands. I wasn’t prepared to take stick in my free time.
 

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘you’re right. You didn’t need my help. You’re quite capable of making yourself look stupid.’ It was a daft thing to say but it slipped out and there were a few laughs from round the bar.

The fella puffed himself up like he was going to explode.

Then he flicked a punch out at me. It caught me on the arm and knocked me off my bar stool. I staggered for a couple of steps and he laughed, a great guffaw.

That was enough. I swung a wide hook and belted him in the jaw.

Before he regained his balance I pinned him against the wall. Piled into him. After a little knocking around he decided to go back to his boat. Maybe I’d got carried away, blamed him for all the shit in the town. Maybe he deserved it. It was hard to say.

When I returned to the bar my drink had another fresh one sitting by it. And Sophie was there. She’d taken the stool next to mine, bought me the drink.
 

She gave me a big smile. ‘That was something.’

‘Was it?’ I sat down and took a drink, looked her up and down. She was all dolled up in tight dress and heels. Hair up and plenty of make-up on. Not normally what I went for but she was keen and friendly.

‘Not seen you here before,’ she said.

‘Not been in town that long.’

‘Sorted those two out easy enough.’

‘Just doing what had to be done.’

‘I like a man who can look after himself.’ At that she slid her hand onto my knee, kept it there.
 

We drank more and she told me about her place in town that she ran, selling off salvaged items. I hadn’t realised at the time that she meant junk.

Then we went off to a club by the quayside, drank more and danced. Headed back to hers. Spent the night together.

We’ve been seeing each other since then.

Now here I was in her flat. I flicked through the cookbook with its pictures of fancy food made of unobtainable ingredients.

Sophie burst in clutching a piece of paper, thrusting it into my face. ‘Here we go,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

I put the book back and had a look. It was the details on a house, some small place across the other side of town, on South Side. There was a poor image of it printed on the top. At the bottom was a price. ‘What’s this?’ I said.

‘House details.’

‘House details?’ I turned the sheet over in case there was some clue as to why this mattered.
 

She took my hand, held it really tight. ‘For us, Trent, when you get all your savings together. We can pool it with mine. The Committee are selling some off. We get a place. Together.’ She grinned. A great smile that hit her ears.
 

That had been a mistake: telling her about my savings. I’d only done it because I’d been drunk. Thinking aloud. Now she was staring at me. It seemed this was the point where I was supposed to say something positive and supportive. ‘Right,’ I said.
 

‘What do you think?’

‘About what?’

‘The house? Is this the one?’

I stared down at the sheet, as if something useful would pop out, some information that would help me ease out of this. After a few seconds I said, ‘It’s quite a way from town.’
 

She snatched the sheet from me. ‘Forget it. Don’t worry about all the effort I put into this.’

‘Sorry, I just —’

‘Don’t Trent.’ She crossed her arms, turned her head away from me. Then she was off out of the room, leaving me there on my own. Me and the ornaments. There was clattering from the kitchen as she shifted stuff around. It was tempting to just leave. Get the fuck out of there and go home.
 

Sophie had ideas in her head. About her future. About me and her — us living together. There was no way I was going to move into a place with her. No chance. She really didn’t get it. This was just a fling, a passing thing that we’d both slid into. It was easy and worked for now but it was nothing more than that.

She didn’t come back in so I settled onto the settee. Although hideous to look at, it was comfortable. And the room was warm, heated by her gas fire, another antique but one that worked. She often complained that the Faeston gas sooted it up but it still pumped out the heat. Sophie liked things easy, comfortable. Soft furnishings, plenty of food and warmth. Small talk. Nothing was difficult here. When I stayed over we’d often lie in until midday the next day.
 

Maybe it was too easy.

Muted cries came from the gulls outside mixed with the distant sound of voices at the quayside. I stretched my legs and splayed out on the settee. It was odd she hadn’t asked me about the other night, The Incident, when I’d brought it up.

That was what she was poor at, serious stuff. It was impossible to talk anything through with her.

My head hurt from the things that were rattling though it. The Incident, Gehenna. The new woman turning up at the races. Ongoing problems with Round Up. Now Sophie wanting to settle down. Buy a fucking house. I shut my eyes and rubbed them.

So much to think about. Too much.

Then there was a noise from outside. A great roar like a giant wave crashing on a beach. Shouts and cries. I went to the window. A wall of water charged up the lane, swamping the people standing there, rushing into doorways before it receded back down to the quayside. The cause was in the harbour. Between the smashed hulls of boats was a giant ship, a great black shape that stood above all of them. On top of its massive hull was the dark oblong of a conning tower. It was Gehenna, HMS Gehenna that was detailed in the documents hidden in my wardrobe, the ancient submarine, last of the Extinction Class. It had surfaced here. A klaxon sounded and the sub’s deck opened, slid apart with a metallic whirr. A ramp extended. Several seconds later a tank emerged, same as the one the other night, followed by others. A column of these deadly vehicles. Their turrets swivelled round and took aim as they lined up on the deck. Then the weapons fired, shaking the building, knocking me from side to side, Sophie repeating my name, over and over.