Bad Music 6
I feel it coming
Dominic stirred from a wine-deep dream of deep water and searching for someone, checked his watch, barely one in the morning. The room was black, save for a gleam of lamplight that slid through a gap between the curtains. He lay there, eyes open staring into the darkness and listened. Outside he heard voices, the graunch of metal being twisted. He rose, pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, looked out through the window into the street. Two teenagers were breaking into his truck. He walked downstairs, pulled on the slippers he never wore except for taking the bin out on a Tuesday evening, and opened the front door.
It was cold and he could still feel the effects of the wine. He wished he’d gone for a piss first, was tempted to close the door and just leave them to it, go to the bathroom on the way back to bed. He heard them talking.
‘This door is fucking shite.’
‘Come on, Cam, let’s just go. It’s not far to walk.’
‘I’m. Not. Fucking. Walking!’ each word punctuated by a noise of twisting metal.
Dominic walked down the steps and along the path to the gate, slid through the gap, it was jammed half-open, and hoisted himself up on the chest-high wall about six feet from where a youth stood twisting a long screwdriver into the lock of his truck.
‘A’right lads,’ he said.
The kid who wasn’t breaking into the truck started. The other kid, Cam, the one holding the screwdriver turned. He was fat. "‘Fuck off!’ he snarled through plump, rosebud lips.
Dominic glanced at the other kid, slimmer, blonde, then back to the fat one, Cam. ‘I would. But that’s my truck you’re breaking into.’
Cam, already back working the door, turned again. ‘Fuck off or I’ll batter you.’
‘Are you with him?’ Dominic asked the blonde kid.
‘Yeah.’
‘Seriously?’
‘He’s my mate.’
‘Get better mates.’
The fat kid threw the screwdriver onto the ground in frustration. Dominic looked at the lock. ‘What you’re doing won’t ever work. It’s an offset deadlock. You’re just twisting steel.’
The fat kid kicked the truck, leaving no mark.
‘It’s a Toyota. Total Quality,’ Dominic said.
‘It’s a piece of shite.’
‘You’ll break before it does.' He looked again at the slim kid with the blonde hair. Something about the way he looked, the way he stood. ‘You a boxer?’
The kid nodded.
‘You fight?’
‘Nineteen and one.’
Dominic nodded in appreciation of those stats. They’d put the kid towards the national championships. ‘Where’d you train?’
‘Tony Boto’s gym.’
Dominic smiled. ‘Over in Hebburn?’
A nod.
‘That fat bastard’s still running the gym?’
‘You know him?’
‘Grew up with him. Is he still fat?’
The blonde kid gave a sly smile. ‘A bit.’ He turned to the Cam. ‘Come on. We’re wasting time. We can get an Uber.’
‘I’m not fucking wasting money on an Uber,’ Cam said.
Dominic spoke to the boxer, ‘You should be in bed. Hard training needs recovery, especially at your age. You’re a growing lad.’ He dropped down from the wall to the street. ‘You’ve had your fun, tubby, I’m tired and I need a piss. Go join your pal in an Uber.’
In reply, Cam made a strange sort of growling sound and moved at Dominic swinging a haymaker, but Dominic sidestepped and hit him in the throat with the side of his hand. It wasn’t crunching hard, but it wasn’t gentle either, and Cam collapsed to the floor in a heap of panicked, choking, gurgling sounds. The blonde kid went to move forward but Dominic held out his hand. ‘He’s ok. He won’t die,’ adding, ‘I don’t think,’ as he watched Cam choking and going red in the face for a few seconds, then he stepped back to allow the blonde kid to go to his friend and tend to him. Dominic watched on with interest as, gradually, the Cam found his breathing again, and his pal pulled him to his feet. ‘You’re alright,’ he said. ‘You’re alright. We’ll get an Uber.’
‘Aye,’ was all Cam managed, and the effort set him off choking again.
Dominic looked at the blonde kid, ‘What’s your name?’
‘James.’
‘Well, James, tell Tubby Boto that Dominic Kerr says hello.’
Struggling to support his plump friend, James nodded. ‘I will.’ They staggered away down the street, to the corner, where Dominic saw James take out his phone.
Angus woke in the dark, checked the clock; shortly after three in the morning. He got up, dressed in his old training kit, pulled on his running shoes, packed his gear in a rucksack. He took one small baggie of the pure cocaine they’d acquired and put it in the top pocket. They’d thrown the rucksack it came in into a skip in Leamington, and when they got to the temporary house, wearing covid masks, latex gloves, and taking extra care, they’d transferred the powder into entirely new one plastic bags. Both Angus and Wull had seen No Country For Old Men, and as Wull said, ‘I don’t want to be Chugurh’d by some maniac with a hidden tracker.’
By half-three Angus had left the house and was jogging down quiet back lanes, covering the three miles to the gym in a stately twenty-five minutes. Wull, who could sleep all night and then all day, thought Angus’ insomnia was an affliction. Angus said it was a superpower.
The gym was closed but he knew the entry code and let himself in. He went into the locker room where he switched on the light and slotted the baggy of cocaine into a numbered locker where it would be collected by a prospective buyer late in the day. He strippd down to his shorts and t-shirt, took off his shoes and went onto the grappling mat. Warmed up by doing breakfalls, front, rear, side, the falls becoming steeper and harder as he loosened up, and after a few minutes he began taking a few steps and throwing himself into running breakfalls, an activity that took more commitment than skill.
After warming up he went into the weights room and did three sets and some core work. He didn’t like weights, hated stationary exercise, but he liked having an explosive strength; he’d never be a marathon runner, power came to him like a controlled explosion and his kinetic chain was smooth and quick, so he did purely weights to maintain that. Glowing and sweating now, he went into the boxing room, put on his wraps and bag mitts and did circuits of the bags, humming along to the music that played in his head as he cracked the bags with unseemly power .
Finished, he towelled away the sweat, dressed, let himself out and jogged the three miles back. His body was humming. He was home before six. He went into the kitchen, took eggs and bacon and sausages from the fridge, fried himself a breakfast.
He felt good.
Dominic woke at nine feeling groggy. He showered, dressed, took Chess over to the park, and sat on his favourite bench while the dog sniffed around. He watched as Chess mooched amongst the trees and undergrowth.
Dominic had bought him at eighteen months old, from an owner who’d kept him and his brother in an outdoor cage, rain, hail or shine, and used him for ratting and not much else. ‘What’s he like on a lead?’ Dominic had asked.
‘Dunno. Never been on one.’
‘Housetrained?’
‘Never been indoors. The other one’s sold,’ the owner added, which pleased Dominic because he preferred the quieter, less dominant dog. He’d been a handful at first, unsocialised, ready to fight with any beast who crossed his path, whether squirrel, hedgehog, rat or Rottweiler. That was a decade ago, and Chess was a little more mellow now, but still unable to back down from bared teeth or an arched spine.
Neither was he, he thought.
The rest of they was filled with paperwork, a zoom conference, then another, and then more paperwork. Soon, he thought, after re-reading an email for the fourth time, soon I’m giving this up. He’d thought this every time he returned from spending time away, but the money always dragged him back.
Around five Chess stood on his hind paws, his forepaws resting on Dominic’s thigh, and stared at him. Chess didn’t bark unless he was in a fight, and he rarely whimpered except for in his dreams. When he wanted something, he just stared. Domnic paused his work to stroke him. ‘Teatime already? I’ll just complete this letter and I’m done.’
He completed the letter and then emailed it, all the time with Chess’ paws resting on his thigh. Finished, he went into the kitchen for kibbles. After this he returned to check his messages. There was a reply from Terri: the hotel had a conference booked for Thursday and Friday. Could he play eight-til-midnight Thursday? He replied. Yes.
There was nothing from Angus.
He sat back, rubbed away the tension between his eyes, remembering Angus as a toddler. He’d been a mummy’s boy back then. Dominic couldn’t recall when Angus slipped the leash of family ties and went out on his own. He couldn’t pick out the specific moment when he bailed from Dominic’s care, because there were so many to choose from. And maybe he’d always been like that.
He fetched a bottle of wine from the pantry, took it into the living room and opened it, put a bootleg disc of the pianist Nataliya Lebedeva, and sat on his favourite comfy chair. He closed his eyes. He’d heard the bootleg so many times he could hum her solos note for note, so he tried instead to decipher her technique. It made him smile, the pleasure of understanding how another musician constructed their work. It was like looking into how they structured their soul.
Music was a great undertaking, it required a lifetime of commitment. It was more than work, it was a way of thinking, a way of moving through the world. Learning to play well meant thousands of hours practice, study and performance. It changed how you related to the world and the people in it. In his mind he saw Lebedeva’s left hand, precise, structured, flowing smoothly from chord to chord, she favoured the dark notes, which was maybe why he liked her so much, she coloured the horizon in reds and blacks and yellows and greens, even as her right hand played foreground, the melody, in lighter hues.
The doorbell rang.
He put down his glass, lifted the needle from the disc, went to the door, opened it. A man stood there. He looked to be about fifty, weather-worn, southern European in skin tone. Something about the man put Dominic immediately on his guard. ‘Yes.’
‘Mr. Kerr? My name is Lala. I’m looking for your son.’
Lala ignored Chess who watched from the comfort of the armchair as he walked into the dining room where he was shown to a seat. ‘Coffee?’ Dominic asked.
‘Yes, that would be good, thank you.’
Dominic went into the kitchen and boiled water for the coffee. Lala smartly dressed in a charcoal grey suit, open white shirt; he looked comfortably affluent, but also dangerous. Somehow, Dominic knew that Lala was armed. Not a gun, there were no suspicious bulges beneath his jacket, and as he’d followed Lala through to the dining room there’d been no sign of a gun at his hip. So, a knife. Pocket? Or sleeve? The answer would tell him a lot about the man. He returned with two coffees. ‘No cream or sugar, my apologies.’
‘Black is fine.’
After the cups were shared and sipped, Lala put down his cup. ‘This Is a nice home.’ He looked at a picture on the mantlepiece, ‘You and your family?’
‘Some years ago.’
‘You’re married?’
‘My wife died.’
‘Ah. I’m truly sorry,’ Lala said. ‘Nature should allow a man to keep his wife until he is old.’ Chess wandered in to check on this stranger, waited a the door. Lala ignored him. Instead, he sipped more coffee waited an appropriate length before broaching the topic of why he’d come. ‘You’ve know what your son has done?’ he said, finally.
‘I have an idea.’
Lala’s face was kindly, but his eyes were sharp, appraising. ‘He has product that I would seek to acquire. There are others after it too.’
‘Others?’
‘Muslims from north of the river.’ He studied Dominic’s face. ‘I’m Albanian, we’ve been fighting those bastards for a thousand years.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘And so have you. And now they’re here.’
Chess approached and stared up at Lala. He turned to look back at him. ‘At home we have Kangals. They protect us from intruders.’
‘I live two hundred yards from a railway line. He protects me from rats.’
Lala smiled, tickled Chess beneath the chin
‘How can I help?’ Dominic asked.
‘To business, then,’ Lala said, turning back. ‘If your son gives me the product, I will be a happy man, a grateful man. I mean you or your son no harm. Absolutely none. Our relationship will be complete and everyone will be happy. But if I do not get the product…’ He sipped his coffee again and allowed the unfinished sentence to hang in the air. Dominic did not pick up his cup. Lala was unperturbed. ‘What do you do for a living, Mr. Kerr?’
‘Management consultant.’
‘Perhaps you can consult with me, now. Advise me.’
‘Alright,’ Dominic said. ‘You appear to be a man of reason, so here’s my help, and my advice.’
‘Go on.’
‘I will attempt to contact my son.’
‘That would be very good. But attempt?’
‘He doesn’t live here and I don’t know where he is. I’ve reached out to him.’
‘Already?’
‘The cops visited me.’
Lala absorbed this. ‘He has replied?’
‘No.’
‘Sons,’ Lala said. They do not always do what we would advise them to.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And your advice?’
Dominic looked Lala in the eye. ‘Do not attempt to harm my son.’ His voice was quiet. ‘If you do, we will be at odds.’
Lala held his gaze, until finally he broke into a smile. ‘You understate your words, Mr. Kerr, like a true Englishman from the history books. There is no bluster in you, I can see that, and I perceive that your words are backed by a strength of purpose.’ He put down his cup, appraising him further. ‘You were not always a management consultant, I think.’
‘No.’
‘We are men. Our job is to provide for our family, and protect them. This, this thing I’m talking about, is only business. But my business is crime. You understand my position.’
‘Yes,’ Dominic said. ‘And I will do what I can to find my son. I will suggest to him he should hand over the product.’
‘At which point you will never hear from me again. Unless you want to come work for me as a consultant.’ He picked up his coffee again, supped it, put it down, made a noise that suggested the conversation was done, and he made to rise.
As he did, Dominic saw, beneath his sleeve, on the inside of his left arm, something dark; a glint of metal. He wears the knife on his arm, he thought. Lala stood, straightening up slowly. ‘I’m getting old. My bones are too stiff for sitting. Or standing.’ He smiled, looked around the room again. ‘You play this piano?’
‘I do.’
‘Does your son?’
‘He does, actually.’
‘You play well?’
‘Reasonably.’
‘Ha. Your English understatement again?’
Dominic smiled.
‘My brother is a muzikant rrugor,’ Lala said. ‘A street musician. He plays in restaurants and bars in Greece; he plays for weddings and social events. Not a life that I would choose, but he loves it; his profession; his art.’
‘Your brother is lucky to do what he loves.’
‘In that, we agree.’ He turned to Dominic. ‘Perhaps you can play, at my daughter’s wedding.’
‘I’d be happy to. When is it?’
‘Not yet. She is only four years old.’
‘The offer stands.’ Dominic said, rising to follow Lala. ‘Where can I contact you.’
‘I have a barber’s shop at the south end of the High-Level Bridge.’
‘Beneath the arches?’
‘Yes.’
Lala walked out the way he came, Dominic following. Lalo opened the front door, turned. ‘I’m glad we have met. You are not what I expected, so I think your son will not be either.’
‘He’s not what I expected, to be honest.’
Lala laughed. ‘Sons!’ he said. ‘We can’t live with them. We can’t shoot them. We must bear them.’
‘That we must,’ Dominic said.
Lalo turned and walked down the four steps to the path, waving a hand. Just outside the gate a grey Mercedes was waiting for him. From the door, Dominic watched him climb in, watched the car leave.
He locked the door, then the inner door. Then he went around and locked the back door, the basement door, and all of the windows, upstairs and down. He spent the rest of the evening sitting in silence, in the dark, drinking wine.
He had found himself in the early stage of a siege; he was inside the walls watching the enemy muster.
He hadn’t chosen it, but it was so.
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The pacing shift between the truck scene and Angus' morning routine really works here. That Lala character is understated but menacing in just teh right way. I like how the threat escalates through conversation rather than action, that dinner table negotiation felt way more tense tahn a typical confrontation. The detail about the knife placement shows thoughtful character building.