One Night Out Stealing Page 2

  Jube leaning forward all ears. Sonny leaned away. (I heard it all before. Next he’ll be wanting a beer, just to get him talking.) This job I seen, it’s – Sonny didn’t listen the rest, turned away, eyes into the crowd. Struck immediately by a question in his mind: My crowd? At the sea of faces, grim, dangerous-eyed, poppy-eyed with the desperates of hanging out for a drug fix, or from too many pills popped, others in exaggerated laughter like they were showing the world how happy they were, when they weren’t. Come to think of it, who in this hellhole was happy, like in deep-down happy?

  Then Jube broke in, asking Sonny to go get Benny here a glass. And Benny thought he saw his chance. A jug to go with it’d be nice. Said to a point just above Sonny’s head. Sonny shot his hand out, It’s Wednesday, bud. Buy your own. Benny shook his head. Just a glass’ll do then. Jube explaining: Sonny gave a jug’s worth to Dangerboy, over there still managing to keep filling his jug. You could say Sonny’s a mug for a jug – hahahaha!! Jube at his own humour.

  Sonny came back with the glass, filled it from Jube’s jug, Here ya go, Benny, get that down ya. Winked cheekily at Jube.

  The scam of Benny’s was a wank. It was a security van, and his plan was taken from a tv crime series; it had everything except the real-life actors to do the job. Sonny dismissed it first, but Jube wanted to hear more, just in case. So the gun came in, which Sonny thought Benny had left out till he tested the waters and filled his glass again, and not from Sonny’s jug pulled close to him either.

  But, Benny, a gun’s worth a minimum five years and they’re handing em out bigger and bigger nowadays – oh, but not that I’m worried about guns. Jube giving his prideful look-around look. I’d use one I had to, don’t you worry about that. I was the best shot at the sideshows, knocking over those ducks they have. Even when the smart cunt started speeding it up when it was my shot, cos he didn’t want me winning all the prizes. You know, teddy bears and that sorta stuff, as if I wanted fucking teddy bears. But, Benny, we get done with a gun involved, it’s a long time in the hole.

  Benny open-mouthed in astonishment at that. But how would we get caught? I’ve been planning this for months. Nah, mate, not for us, Jube’d decided. And the moment was awkward because there was no more to say, nor reason for Benny to keep filling his glass, which is why Jube wised up and positioned his jug out of Benny’s reach; and he too turned his back to Benny, so for all they knew – if it wasn’t for the drone of his voice – Benny mighta dropped dead. The drone soon dropped out of hearing, and Jube figured out loud to Sonny that getting a free glass at every table was Benny’s real go.

  They drift over, drift elsewhere. Benny here. Benny gone. Then it was Hitman Peters, going from table to table, did anyone want someone hit, that’s my job, as well I waste people. When everyone knew Hitman was fucked in the head – oh, but weren’t half ofem? He’d take out someone for keeps for a grand; might even do it for less, specially on a Wednesday. Break someone’s legs, wrap a Softball bat round the cunt’s knees, how I do it, for as low as a hundred. And little huddles all over of dudes planning sumpin, plotting some job, inventing some impossible idea – All roads lead from Tavistocks to jail, don’t they know that, Jube? Sonny, there you go thinking again. Always thinking thinking, you’ll drive yaself crazy.

  Night must’ve fallen outside. Wasn’t visible from where Sonny and Jube stood, their watches told them, so did the clock above the servery that was it twenty past six of a not-quite spring evening, and seven was when these doors closed, since they opened three hours earlier at eight and the law said eleven hours’ trading only, even with this lot who’d drink till the cows came home.

  A hum was about the place as dudes and a handful of sheilas staggered and rocked from all the day down to drinking, and popping pills out in the toilets or smoking joints right at the tables in tight clusters of mainly young wildbloods fresh outta jail, who really thought they were sumpin else smoking so boldly out in the open like that.

  Near everyone humming from the state of being drunk, what it did to em that nothin else does, not anything in and of this life; not even love does it to em, gives em that same sense of soaring immortality and hazy happiness; a kind of confidence hard to believe – that wasn’t there to start with – and yet sumpin about the confidence that said it wasn’t altogether true, or not so that you’d charge outta here go start chatting as an equal to some straight strangers, or haul it out on the morrow like a charm, a qualification of personal quality, an asset to approach life the better with. You, each and every, just felt real good, but yet not so good you felt it was gonna last. So there was the fear, some of it desperate, that the feeling was gonna go. Wear off. And so they gulped, and they tossed back pills and sucked hard on joints, and always the cigarettes. And the talk poured from near every mouth like pus from a mass social wound.

  A figure with a helmet under its arm burst in through the front doors: WHO PISSED ON ME BIKE! And it went quieter in an instant. And the fulla asked again: COME ON, WHO PISSED ON ME BIKE? Then laughter broke out. Though not from the fulla with the helmet and the outraged face. Then someone, looked like Corky Wiringi, walked over to the guy, who no-one seemed to know so must be he was a stranger didn’t know what he’d brought his outrage into, and it’d gone so quiet everyone could hear Corky say, What if it was me, man? Just as they could see the guy shove Corky, which meant he was definitely a stranger, and a pretty unlucky one at that. Corky hit him.

  The fight seemed a quick one-hit affair typical of Corky. But Matty got excited by it, as Matty was wont to do, and he went over and stuck his nose in. So Corky punched the nose. And Matty’s face turned instant scarlet, and his mates didn’t like that so they hurtled over, and the fight rapidly spread like a stone dropped in a pond as dudes ran to it, specially the young wildbloods, but plenty of older guys too, who Sonny thought should know better, yet knew they wouldn’t cos they didn’t want to. So a struggling seethe of blows of fists and efforted breath; head-jolting, yelling, women screaming, arm-flailing, fist-pumping, head-butting. Just another day at the office, eh Sonny? Hahaha. Makes me sick, Jube. I know it does, that’s what I’m laughing at, lil man. What, it’s funny? Sure is, man; I mean here you are, in this place of all the places, and ya hate fighting. Clicking his tongue. Bit like a doctor who don’t like blood. Sonny’s eyes on the fight, he wasn’t sure why, shrugging at Jube’s observation.

  The fight spread alright. Must be thirty ofem going to town there, Sonny. And there’s Corky, who else? Jube’s tone excited, swallowing his beer in hasty gulps so not to miss any of the action. Then through his teeth and in Sonny’s ear muttering about he’d be in there it wasn’t for the fighters being Maori, near every man jack ofem; they’d eat me alive, Sonny, your brown cousins, I’d be the new target to take their Wednesday frustrations out on. Racism, see, Sonny, it’s the other side of racism ya never hear about in this country, it’s always your lot claiming it’s done – Oh, did ya see Matty throw that fucking right! Oh man, now Corky’s heading for Matty.

  The fight separated itself off, from those who were in, to those who weren’t. And those who weren’t, neck-craning, eye-googling. Those who were, an encrazed, struggling mass of bodies. And some of them quite clearly like they’d found something, and the something was stardom, being a star, being centre stage, so loving it. Loving it. Look at em, Jube, they’re just kids, kids in men’s bodies showing off. Right, Sonny, right, but what a show, hahaha. Best scrap I seen in ages. Just lookit Corky. Man, no wonder he was one of the kingpins at Parry. At Corky throwing big lefts and rights at any head he saw, toppling them like ninepins.

  Oh-oh, here comes the boss, Jube at the sight of the giant figure of the publican wading his way through the crowd and bellowing as he came: BREAKITUP! BREAKITUP! I’M BARRING EVERY ONE OF YOU! BREAKITUP! And the spectators groaning, Oh boss! it’s only a lil ole fight. Men, as well as the hardshot women only to be found here.

  Mr Reid got to the action and promptly felled someone with a huge right. And everyone
went quiet for just a second then let out a huge OOOOOOhh! at once. At the boss his power. His hitting power, but too his courage to walk right into the thick of it, specially with dudes like Corky who didn’t take no prisoners. So Bull Reid flung a few more bodies aside, hit another dude who shaped up to him – flattened him – then it was only Corky, as the others slipped off into the crowd or picked themselves up and got snatched to safety before the dreaded sentence of being barred could be passed on them by Mr Reid.

  Corky? Go fuck yaself, Bull. This is none a your business. Between me and these guys. Corky, the giant raised his hand to Corky in his fighting stance. Mistah Reid, man, I never gave you no hassles, you know that. Corky, Reid was shaking his head, this is my pub. You unnerstan? Yeah but, Mistah Reid, I was only defending myself, come on. Corky looking around him, into the crowd that’d melted into one and all looking his and Mr Reid’s way. Corky the manslaughterer – twice he got found on the lesser charge. Twice he’d done time for it. Sonny, I think Mr Reid might be gonna get his beans here. Is that so? And you’d like that, Jube? Well, you know, Jube grinning but with eyes only for the confrontation, be good to see how he goes with someone like Corky.

  Corky, you are barred for three months. Aw, Mistah Reid, I was – Three months, Corky; don’t make it worse for yourself. Even from the distance Sonny and Jube could see the hurt in Corky’s eyes, and it was an odds-on bet someone’d step out on Corky’s side. Which was Dangerboy, who bulled his way through the crowd to stand with Corky, his half-dullard jaw trembling with emotion, and part of it was crawling to Corky, showing his staunchness. Jube chuckled in Sonny’s ear, There goes your five bucks. But think of it this way, least Dangerboy won’t be around for a while yet to get more fives out of you.

  OOOOOOOOHHHHHhhhhh! went the crowd at Mr Reid throwing the first of two punches. And Dangerboy fell down. EEEEEEEEE! as Corky staggered from the next blow. Man, ya wonder why a guy would wanna run a pub like this, Sonny in amazement at the one-man stand against this head-fucked mayhem of humanity. The bread, Sonny, he does it for the bread. OOOOOOOOOHHHHHhhhh! at Corky falling down on just another Wednesday at Tavistocks bar down by the waterfront with harbour waters outside dancing with lights and churns of vessel movement.

  Now the clock read less’n half an hour of drinking time. But no hurry, plenty of places to go to from here. Just that the adrenalin was going in everyone from the fight and Mr Reid proving himself, yet again, so he was God gone up another notch, with everyone talking about him his power, his godliness, and Corky’s reign ended. Jube was telling a barely listening Sonny of his own fighting prowess, of how his right was as good as his left, and that’s very unusual, Sonny, I can tell you, when in walked Jeep by the back door.

  Hey, Jeep! But Jeep just waved at Jube and headed for the bar, now being minded over by Mr Reid himself – Himself – and Sonny and Jube could hear Jeep order twenty jugs for me and my friends please, Bull. But Bull Reid shook his head, Too close to closing time, Jeep. I’d never get rid of you lot. Aw, Mr Reid, my money’s as good as the next guy’s ain’t it? Maybe, Jeep. Maybe not, if you know what I mean. Giving Jeep his hard look. So how many’m I allowed to buy, for fuck’s sake? And I thought this was a pub? Jesus Christ, I’ve got a good mind to take my money someplace else where I’m, you know, re – well, where I’d get some respect. As people moved in on Jeep from everywhere, and the Boss told Jeep he could have five jugs but no more than that. Come back tomorrow, Jeep, with a bit more time and you can order how many jugs you want. Yeh, I’ll do that, Mr Reid, I will. Cept it won’t be here, I can tell you. Suit yaself, Jeep.

  Jeep came over with two of the five jugs to Jube and Sonny. Hey, Jube! Plonked the jugs down, shook Jube’s hand, even though they’d been drinking with him last night. Same to Sonny. Puddit here, Sonny, and ask me how I am. So how are ya, Jeep? Oh, you know, Jeep bouncing on his toes moving his shoulders from side to side. You scored good, right? Oh, you know – What, a burg? Mighta been. Well, man, I’d keep it down even in here, the walls have ears, ya know? Jube getting close to Jeep, and anyway he had to cos of the professional hanger-ons milling around, three with his jugs he didn’t grab, patting his back, hanging loose till they got more than a sniff of his evident good fortune. Jeep ignoring Jube’s advice, blurting out with it, his good fortune. Did a big house in Remmers. Just finished. He patted his pocket. Cash, boys. Heaps of it. I’m made. And Sonny saw Jube’s eyes glass over with jealousy.

  Jube’s hand went out. Puddit here, Jeep. And may I be the first to offer you my congratulations. And Sonny thinking this could be a ceremony, an award-giving ceremony for burglars. So he laughed, Hey, Jeep, ask Jube where your prize is then, hahaha. Though only Jeep, not Jube, laughed.

  Bell went. Session in the Tavi was ended. So where we goin, Jeep? Jube with an arm around him. Till Jeep told him, Oh I got a woman lined up. She finishes work soon. Work? You got a woman who works? Yep. Highlife massage parlour. She makes heaps herself. We’re gonna paint the town – by ourselves. But here, here’s twenty from me for the road. He shrugged out of Jube’s embrace, patted Sonny’s cheek, slapped Jube’s back and nipped his darty-type body out the door before Jube could say, Cunt. Dirty rotten lucky cunt.

  They bought some cans for home with the twenty windfall plus a few more added from Jube’s pocket, since Sonny was out, to get as many as they could. Back through the bar and everyone asking where was the party action. Party at your pad, Jube and Sonny? Nope. Nope, not tonight, Jube a bit more mellow than usual, when normally he was on for a party anywhere anytime.

  Out in the canyon echo of bus terminal, Jube’s cowboy boots clacking on the tarmac they crossed; bus-catchers all around, half ofem drunk, waiting for the seven thirties and seven forty-fives home to working-class shitholes. They’re us, eh Jube? Sonny with a little gesture at the waiters. Us? Whaddaya mean us? Us, like in they come from the same, like, background. Do they? Jube’s question echoing. A large Polynesian woman lifted her head to stare at Jube. Them are us? Yeah, you know – aw, hey, man, are you in a pissy mood? But Jube wasn’t answering for a bit; so he was pissed off at sumpin.

  Jeep. Why fucking him? Eh? Why fucking Jeep? It’s always Jeep who lucks out on a job. Us, why do we get the houses don’t have much bread? You tell me what that lil jerk’s got I – we – ain’t got? Man, I was robbing houses when he was in his fucking nappies. And as for having a massage woman as his sheila for the night – Fuck! Jube near spewing on his jealousy. Magine what sorta tricks she’ll know in the sack, Sonny. Oh, I dunno. Ya mean, ya dunno? Dunno what? That she’ll know any more than – Course she’ll know more. That’s her job, ain’t it? Her job, Sonny, is servicing clients in the sack, ya got that? Yeah, I have, but that don’t mean she – Man, are you trying to wind me up? Nope. Just trying to express an op – Well, fuck your opinion. Jeep’s a dirty rotten lucky cunt and I hate him. Stabbing his free finger at Sonny, other arm taken up with carrying the carton of beer cans, Pricks like Jeep, they fall over and it’s on a fifty-buck note – Jeezuz. What’s his fucking secret? That’s what I’d like to know.

  Their shoes rubber-padding on the tarmac as they crossed and went through a narrow street to where Jube’s car was parked. Buses rumbling in and out behind them. Stars and moon clouded over and it starting to spit. Sonny’s whistled tune broken off by Jube telling him to shut it, will ya. Lights out behind em of Tavistocks on just another Wednesday evening. And Jube with an idea that they might go on the cruise tomorrow, maybe the weekend, somewhere. A cruise, man? Where to? Where to, Sonny? How about the fucking moon? Ooo, we are in a pissy. Ooo, we are in a pissy, he says – Who’s in a pissy? Jube stopped to stare bitterly at Sonny as he fiddled in jeans pocket for the car keys. You’re in one. You’re in one, Jube repeating Sonny again. So cruise where, man? But Jube gone off the idea as quickly as it’d come. Dunno where. Somewhere we can score good like that fucking dead-lucky Jeep. Hefting the carton over to the back seat, climbing his tall figure in; all long legs and lean muscle and sinew. Expelling on
a long sigh as he started the engine, Life, man, it fucking sucks sometimes.

  2

  Outside some takeaway joint with a name – McTucky’s – sounding and looking so familiar lit up in red neon blinking teasingly, cos the name was right on the tips of both their tongues, they’d guessed and guessed earlier to no avail; just this tease of brand name, it seemed, like a bell that wouldn’t quite clang.

  Main street in Jube’s rear-vision mirror, and over Sonny’s left shoulder, the more since he was half faced that way, with left leg bent up on the seat, which had cigarette holes burnt in it and picked larger over the years by all the different passengers who didn’t give two stuffs about adding to the ruin of upholstery, nothin better to do with their fidgety idle hands not used to work but couldn’t stay still neither. Hicktown. Place coulda been a cowboy town from a man his days as a kid at the movies. (When he had hope, eh Sonny? Yeah well, maybe. Maybe it was sumpin I was born with.) Railway line up the street a bit, a man could easily relive the sounds of train rattling over it from his father’s job that gave him his daily booze money. Sonny could see in his mind the covered wagons with their orange canvas tarpaulins spotted over with patches. Cruising, eh? This is cruising?