CHAPTER TWELVE
Zak
He’d watched the taller girl get some money from a hole-in-the-wall and reckoned it was worth a shot.
‘D’you wanna buy a dog?’
‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’ The smaller one had mean eyes, little slits all suspicion. He had ’em pegged as sisters.
‘Nothing. But I can’t look after her any more. Just been chucked out my flat, I haven’t got anywhere to stay. I hate to let her go.’ He shuffled, stuck his hands in his pockets, swung his head to the side and down.
The taller one was stooping down, patting Bess on the head. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Bess. She’s a lovely nature. Lab cross.’ He’d no idea what with but she was big and golden. ‘She’s had all her jabs,’ he added. ‘She was my dad’s then he died and I took her.’
‘Aw.’ The taller one straightened up, her eyes soft,
‘I want her to go to a good home.’
‘How much?’ demanded the little one. Then she cast an eye at her sister. ‘Mum’d die.’
‘She’d come round,’ the taller one said, smitten.
‘She’s a good guard dog,’ Zak put in. ‘She’ll bark if you want her to. Better than an alarm.’
‘She’s lovely, Shiv.’ She grinned at her little sister. ‘What’s she eat?’
‘She’s not fussy but lamb’s her favourite, any brand.’
‘How much?’ repeated Shiv.
‘Twenty-five.’ It was nothing. You’d pay ten for a rabbit in the pet shops. Zak hoped he’d get twenty.
‘How old is she?’ Shiv asked.
‘Nearly five.’
‘What’s that in dog years?’ The tall one was petting Bess again.
‘Thirty-five,’ said Zak. ‘You times it by seven. Labradors, they live to fourteen or fifteen so she’s only a young one.’ Zak was aware of a pair of CSOs strolling up the precinct in their high vis jackets and dark caps. He wanted to make the sale before they got too close. ‘She’s well trained, tell her to stay and she won’t budge. Sit there all night, she would.’
‘What do you think, Shiv?’ Her voice was bubbly with excitement, a smile flickered round her lips.
‘Mum’d kill us.’
‘Go over there,’ Zak suggested to the tall one, ‘then call her.’ The CSOs had stopped, were talking to one of the African lads flogging brollies.
The girl walked over to the shop doorway. Bent down. ‘Come on, Bess.’ Bess ran over and stood at her feet. The girl clapped her hands. She walked back, Bess at her heels.
‘Twenty,’ Shiv said to Zak.
Zak made out he was torn for a moment. Looked at Bess then back to the girl. Nodded. The taller one burst out laughing. She took a fresh note out of her purse and Zak thanked her. He knelt down, hugged Bess, ruffled her head.
‘You’ll want her lead.’ He pulled the coil of rope from his pocket. ‘She’s fine without but some places you have to put them on the lead. You’re meant to round the shops.’ He hooked the lead into the ring on Bess’s collar.
‘When’s her birthday?’ Shiv asked.
‘Next week, August 10th. She’ll be five then.’
‘She’s a Leo,’ the tall girl said. ‘Sociable, outgoing.’
‘Sounds right,’ Zak smiled. The CSOs were on the move again. ‘Look after her, won’t you?’
‘We will,’ chorused the sisters.
Zak left them and walked up the tram platform. In the reflection of the glass he saw them set off towards Boots. Shiv went in the shop, the other girl waited outside with Bess.
A few minutes later, Shiv came out and they linked arms and walked further along. Then they went into the market. Zak slipped down from the tram stop and ran along the road to the alley that led into the middle of the market. He stopped at the bottom of the alley. The stalls were close together and the aisles between them narrow. He couldn’t see the girls. Had no idea where they were but that was okay. Better in fact.
He whistled once, three shrill notes, and within seconds Bess was hurtling into the alley, no lead attached to her collar, not any more. Zak always made sure to fix the lead on with a soft, thin wire ring, little more than fuse wire that would open with the slightest tug, let alone the frantic yank when Bess heard him whistle for her.
He and the dog walked smartly up the alley and then down the steps to the canal. Out of sight, together again, and twenty quid richer.
Zak wondered if they’d put out a reward for information about the murder. If it was big enough, really really big, then it might be worth him coming forward but he’d want guarantees as well. Carlton saw him, he was sure of that, would know him by Bess down there barking when it all kicked off if nothing else. Zak tried to steer clear of Carlton and his like but they made a point of knowing who was doing what on their turf. Zak was small-time, no threat to them. But if the cops did offer a reward, like they did when no one snitched, then he’d need a new identity, a place to live, somewhere for his mam and Bess. If the reward money was a lot, and it’d have to be a lot to break the silence, then maybe they’d go abroad, somewhere nice like Ibiza. Party all the time. Have a place by the beach and a pool. He could be a DJ, just for the fun, wouldn’t need to work if the reward was big enough. He was imagining this when he saw the lads. Four of them on bikes, hoods up, circling round the end of the street like hyenas waiting for carrion. There was no way he was going past them, even with the dog at his side.
He spun on his heels and began to retrace his steps but one of them noticed him. He heard a yell, a ripple of sounds, the threat in the air like electricity, pricking his skin and pressing inside his skull.
He picked up speed but heard the air move behind him, the whirr of wheels, the clatter of gears.
‘Oy, dosser.’
‘Eh, tramp.’
Then the thud of something on his back. The rattle of a can hitting the road. A gale of laughter.
He turned now, pulling Bess in front of him, his hand in her collar.
‘You got a light?’ The lad had a shaved head, skin the colour of porridge, his neck was a mix of fuzzy tattoos and angry pimples. Zak stared. Stupid question, he knew it wasn’t a light they wanted.
‘Yeah.’
Zak pulled out his lighter, tossed it to the guy who caught it, dropped it, drove his heel down on to it and mashed it into the ground. ‘Whoops!’ He grinned. There were brown lines on his teeth. ‘What else you got?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Empty your pockets.’ A ginger lad, freckly. They’d no fear of Bess, barely cast her a glance. How could they tell she was soft? If he had a pit bull would they have left him alone?
Zak brought out his tobacco in one hand, a twist of draw, all he had left, in the other.
‘Wacky backy,’ the Asian guy said. He let his bike drop, stepped up to Zak. He had a scar by his eye, the line paler, puckered. He took the tobacco and the draw. ‘And the rest,’ he said.
‘That’s it.’ Zak could smell the guy’s aftershave, the sweat beneath it.
‘Phone,’ the first guy commanded.
‘I need my phone.’ Zak tried to keep calm, like it was a fact not an argument. ‘My mam, she needs it to keep in touch with me.’
‘His mam,’ jeered the Asian lad.
‘Mummy’s boy, is he,’ the ginger lad said. Then spat on the floor.
‘She’s in hospital. A big operation.’
‘Give it here.’ The Asian lad moved closer. Zak pulled his phone out. That raised a laugh. Old and scratched, chunky too, the sort you couldn’t give away.
The Asian lad threw it to Ginger who rode off down the road with it before coming back and chucking it to the one with the tattoos. He peered at it, pressed some buttons. ‘Let’s have a chat to Mummy, then.’