Fireproof (9 page)

"Think you can keep the hoods from bullying the Goths?"

"Fucking right. Them long-haired freaks are my mates now. Nobody will mess with them."

"Great job, Tony. I owe you one."

"More than one now, boss."

Tony hung up and Mike got back to scripting the mass. He'd put himself under a bit of pressure by scheduling it for the next night, but that was okay. He worked better that way. And he needed to keep his mind busy. Thoughts of Paul Murphy and Sean Phillips had to be kept at bay.

Mike finished writing after eight pints of Guinness and a packet of bacon flavour crisps. He licked the grease and crisp crumbs off his fingers and tucked the notepad into the pocket of his tracksuit top. Then he called the barmaid over.

"Another pint please, pet."

"Oh you've put away your wee colouring book, have you? Maybe you'll pay me a little attention now," she said.

"I most certainly will. Will you be here for the rest of the night?"

She looked at her watch.

"It's half seven now. I'll be finished in half an hour if Jimmy isn't late again," she said.

"Well then, I'll buy you a drink when Jimmy takes over."

She winked at him and went to pull his pint. There was a Guinness tap at his end of the bar but she went to the tap at the other end. She wanted him to watch her walk away. He did. She wore white tracksuit trousers that had worked their way down her spray-tanned hips. The waistband of her thong underwear peeked out. The thong screamed pink. He already knew that her bra was black. The straps were visible through her cheap, white vest.

She didn't charge him for the pint.

Jimmy arrived at quarter past eight and poured her a double vodka and coke to apologise. The barmaid forgave him and sat beside Mike on the other side of the bar. Half of the vodka and coke had disappeared before he could ask his first question.

"So what's your name, miss?"

"Kylie. What's yours, mister?"

"I'm Mike Rocks."

He held out his hand and she wrapped hers around the first three fingers.

"You have huge hands," Kylie said.

"You know what they say about men with big hands?"

"What's that?" Kylie looked at Mike's crotch without shame.

"They wear big gloves."

She snorted and then lit a cigarette. She offered one to Mike who waved it away.

"I'm trying to quit myself," she said. "It's not easy."

"I'm sure it's not. What would you like to do?"

"I'd love to get a pizza and a bottle of vodka and head back to your place."

"That sounds okay to me. Get your coat."

They drained their glasses and left the bar. There was a pizza place just across the street. On the way, three youths in baseball caps said hello to Mike. After they got their pizza, they walked up the road to an off licence that Mike hadn't pretended to rob, to buy a bottle of vodka. Two more groups of hoods acknowledged Mike on the way.

"You're popular," Kylie said.

"I do a lot of youth work."

"My last boyfriend did a lot of youth work too. Every time there was a riot, he made sure all the kids had enough stones to throw at the cops."

Mike thought about Paul Murphy. Stones weren't the only things he'd supplied kids with. He'd also sold Ecstasy to twelve-year-olds when he was strapped for cash. The square-headed hypocrite used to kneecap hoods for selling drugs on his street. The wanker.

"Sounds like a real saint," Mike said.

"No, a complete prick. I was afraid to leave him. He ran his last ex out of the city."

"So how'd you get away from him?"

"Some guy killed him a few weeks ago."

"And you were devastated?"

"Well, I was a wee bit shocked. I saw it happen and there was a lot of blood. But if I ever met that handsome fucker who did him in, I'd kiss the face off him."

"Guess I'll have to do for now then."

"I think you'll do just fine, Mike."

Back at Mike's apartment they tucked into the bottle of vodka and wolfed down the pizza. Mike lifted the empty pizza box and put it next to the kitchen sink. When he turned back to the dining table Kylie was sitting on it in her unmatched bra and thong. She lifted the vodka bottle and poured it over her chest.

"Fancy another drink, big lad?"

Mike didn't need to be asked twice.

***

Mike woke up the next morning with his head thumping and Kylie drooling on his chest. He didn't mind. They had enjoyed each other with drunken, lustful intensity into the wee, small hours. And he was happy to learn his actions in The Beehive hadn't traumatised her. Turned out to have been the opposite effect. She'd been liberated by the big fucker's untimely demise.

He slid out of the bed, careful not to wake her, and went to the kitchen. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he went over the notes he had written in the pub the day before. It had come together quite well. After he had finished scripting the black mass he had written a short set of instructions for new devotees. He would give the handwritten text to Tony who would get it typed and bound as his first task as high priest. Tony could keep the handwritten text as a souvenir. If this whole thing took off, it might be worth a bit of cash in a few years.

He thought about working on some new recruits, to get them in on time for the mass, but decided that he had a big enough night ahead of him without adding more work to the agenda. He made two cups of tea instead and went back into the bedroom to wake Kylie up. He'd let her have a cup of tea and ask her what she wanted for breakfast. After she was fed and showered, he'd get her dirty all over again. It'd be a nice way to say good bye.

"Jim McCracken is waiting for you in the meeting room, Cathy."

Margaret squinted at Cathy as she walked through the door, sharpening her thin face to an axe head. She'd forgotten her glasses again. Cathy smiled at her, not sure if Margaret could even make out her face with her unaided short-sightedness.

"Oh, did he ask for me?" Cathy asked.

"Yes. You seem to have made quite an impression on him." Margaret's statement sounded more like an accusation than praise. Cathy preferred Mary's easy going attitude to Margaret's more conservative outlook.

"Well, I better go see what's bothering him."

Cathy threw her coat over the back of her chair and went to the meeting room. As she opened the door, Jim pulled his index finger out of his nose. Cathy wished she could meet a guy who didn't feel the need to do that. At least Jim had the decency to look embarrassed about it, but then, he was one of those teenagers who always looked embarrassed and guilty.

"Can I help you, Jim?"

"Nope, but I can help you."

"Please share."

"I know where Mike is going to be tonight."

"Excellent. Where?"

"My mate Tony's just off the phone. Mike's holding a black mass on the Lisburn Road. He's booked St Aidan's Parish Hall. There'll be hundreds of people there. Goths and everything. Sounds a bit mad, but I'll go see what it's all about."

"St Aidan's Parish Hall? For a Satanic mass?"

"Aye. Ironing."

"Irony, Jim. Not ironing."

HeHHh

"Aye, whatever. So do you want to go?"

"Yes, of course. What time?"

"Eight."

"Excellent. I'll get there early and see if I can get a few minutes to talk to him."

"Tony says it'll probably only last about an hour. I was wondering if you'd like to go to Burger King for a bite to eat after it."

"Remember what I said about our professional relationship, Jim? I wasn't joking."

"Oh right. No sweat. I'll just ask one of the other girls."

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about today, Jim?"

"No, not really."

"Well I've a little bit of paperwork to get caught up with."

Jim eventually took the hint and left the meeting room. Cathy's mind buzzed with ideas. She was going to meet a possible sociopath. What would she say to him?

After work she dressed in Jeans and a T-shirt because she didn't want to stick out in the crowd by overdressing. She also wanted to avoid distracting Mike's attention from their conversation by offering him too much bare flesh to appraise. Approaching him on an intellectual level first would give her a greater insight into his personality.

Cathy took a private taxi to the parish hall on the Lisburn Road. As they approached the destination she was surprised to see the size of the crowd that had already gathered. It was only half past seven but at least two-hundred teenagers were waiting outside the hall's main doors.

"Is there a concert on here tonight, love?" the taxi driver asked.

"No, a Satanic mass."

"Oh. Well, different strokes for different folks. My missus has gotten herself into Buddhism. I don't mind too much. Her meetings take her out on a Saturday night, so I can have a few beers and watch the boxing in peace."

"That's brilliant. Isn't it wonderful how spirituality can do so much for a relationship?"

"Powerful stuff. That'll be five-fifty please."

***

Jim couldn't help but stare. The weird kids dressed and acted so… weird. And they all stared back at him. Each and every one. As if
he
was the freak.

Tony nudged him with an elbow. "Stop staring, Jim."

"How can I not stare? Look at that one with the thing in her nose."

The girl with fire engine red hair, mime artist makeup and a surgical steel ring in her nostril shot Jim a poison glance.

"Fuck sake, Jim. Ever hear of whispering?"

"My ma says whispering's bad manners."

"Your ma says a lot of things."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, Jim."

"Dick."

The girl with the pierced nose said something to the other Goths standing around her and they sniggered. Jim frowned.

"Do you think they're talking about me, Tony?"

"No, the wee girl wants to ride me," Tony whispered. "I got her number earlier. Can't wait to get at her. I'll knock the greasepaint off her face."

"Are you not with Tracey anymore?"

"Don't melt my head."

"So, can I ask Tracey out?"

"What? No! I still want Tracey. I just want to see that other one for the craic. You know what it's like."

"Aye." But Jim didn't really know. Either he was with Tracey or he wasn't. Tony shouldn't be allowed to put dibs on all the girls he liked the look of. Only the memory of Tony straddling him and punching him until he couldn't breathe stopped him from voicing his true feelings.

"Excuse me. Do you know if Mike has arrived yet?"

Jim's ears pricked. A Belfast accent with a little less twang. What he normally thought of as an I'm-better-than-you accent. But not when this girl… no… this lady used it. A look but don't touch type, but how he liked to look.

Jim heard Cathy from the Outreach Centre as she spoke to the weirdest looking guy in one of the Goth cliques. With hair dyed bright green and superglued into high spikes, the junky-looking Goth could stab a cloud in a single bound. Jim would never have had the balls to wear his hair like that. But he
could
talk to Cathy without blushing and freezing mid-speech. Mr Big Balls with the long, green spikes couldn't.

"Uh, ah, arrrr," he said

"Well thanks for all your help." Cathy turned to face Jim, blowing air from puffed cheeks through those Angelina Jolie lips. Her gaze skimmed past Jim.

"Cathy."

Jim's stomach tumbled as Cathy responded to her name: focussing, widening her brown eyes and almost smiling. Beside him, but in the back of his head like a distant car alarm, Tony made a sound somewhere between a moan and a purr. Jim wished she'd spotted him from the other side of the car park, just so he could watch her walk towards him a little longer.

"Jim," Cathy said, "good to see you. Who's your friend?"

Ach, you don't want to know that,
Jim thought. He said, "This is Tony. He's the guy who organised the room and invited the Goths. Mike trusts him a lot."

"Pleased to meet you," Tony said. He offered her his hand and shook like a salesman.

"And you," Cathy said. "Do you know if Mike has arrived yet?"

"Yeah, he's inside. I was just about to go in and see him. He wants me to do part of this service so I need to read over some stuff. Jim says you're a good friend of the family and you've always been interested in this sort of thing. Would you like me to introduce you to Mike? I'm sure he'd like to meet someone closer to his age with an interest in what he does."

Jim felt his heart go giddy up. He'd not had a chance to relay the cover story to Cathy.

"Thanks, Tony. I'd love to meet him."