Road Kill

Twenty-one

Is that it? So what?

The words formed in my head but I didn’t let them out. In fact, for a moment the only sound was the rush of the surf against the rocks and the raucous cries of the gulls circling overhead. It sounded like they were laughing at us.

Then Paxo snatched his arm away, flushing furiously. He took a step back and gave a splutter of laughter that died in his throat.

“Ah, mate, come on!” His eyes swivelled from face to face, looking for the first chink in the practical joke. “Don’t kid us about!”

“I’m not,” Daz said calmly, more confident. It was like, now it was done, the act of coming out had lost its terrors for him. “It’s true. I’m gay.”

William nodded slowly. “Well, good for you, Daz,” he said. “I know that must have taken some doing, telling us that. I admire you for it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Paxo wailed. “Not you as well?”

“What’s the big deal?” Jamie said, nonplussed. “So, he’s gay. So what?”

“Plenty – if you’re completely homophobic,” Daz said, body tense.

“Why did you wait until now?” Paxo demanded. “I have to tell you, mate, your timing on this stinks.”

Tess, I realised then, had been standing silent in the background. But when I glanced at her I found she was wasn’t entirely still. She was trembling. As I turned towards her she took a couple of quick steps forwards and launched a long telegraphed right at Daz’s jaw, regardless of her swollen fingers. He ducked away easily enough and her punch hit his shoulder.

“You bastard!” she cried, flailing at him then. “You only wanted me along on this trip as cover!”

Jamie grabbed her arms and pulled her off and, after a moment’s struggle, she turned her face into his chest and burst into tears. He led her a little distance away and sat her down on a short basalt column, holding her hands and shooting reproachful glances in Daz’s direction.

“Is that right?” Paxo demanded, watching them. “You told us she wouldn’t be left behind, that you didn’t have a choice but to let her tag along. And all the time—” He threw up his hands and spun away.

William raised an admonishing eyebrow. “I realise it’s difficult, but you could have handled this better,” he said at last. “It’s not what you’ve done, Daz, it’s the way that you’ve done it.”

“Yeah well,” Daz muttered, flicking his eyes to Sean. “Maybe I didn’t have much of a choice about that.” And he too walked away, stumbling slightly over the rocks, in the opposite direction to Paxo.

“I guess from that that you forced his hand somewhat?” William said to Sean.

Sean shrugged. “He was doing his best to break his neck proving what a man he was,” he said. “And he was going to get round to bringing it out in the open at some point. I just hurried him along a little.”

“Best part of ten years I’ve known Daz,” William said sadly, shaking his head. “And I’d never have guessed.” He paused, gave Sean an assessing glance. “How did you know?”

“I’ve learned to be a good judge of people,” he said. “It goes with the territory. Besides, there were one or two things in Daz’s background that made it a possibility and then on the ferry there was something about him so I played along and he—” Sean shrugged, “—revealed himself, shall we say.”

Sean had always a sixth sense for, not weakness exactly, but people’s secrets. I’d never successfully been able to hide much from him, that was for sure. But even so . . .

“Revealed himself how?” I demanded and thought, unbelievably, that I saw a faint slash of colour across his cheekbones. “What? What did you do?”

Sean’s eyes flicked from me to William and back again, a slightly pained expression on his face.

“You made a pass at him, didn’t you?” I said, incredulous, and saw the pink darken round his neck. “You did!” I concluded. “So that’s what you found out when you were out on the back deck together,” I said. “I’m not surprised you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I just wanted to be sure,” he said, nodding, still looking a little sheepish. “I gave him my word that I wouldn’t say anything – that I’d let him tell you and the others himself. If he hadn’t been riding like he had a bloody death-wish I would have left him to it, but this was getting beyond a joke. Someone was going to get killed.”

William’s gaze had tracked over Jamie, still crouched with the upset Tess, and to Paxo, a hundred metres away sucking furiously on a cigarette. “Still,” he said, his voice mild, “Paxo and Tess haven’t taken it well. Might have been better to have left it until we got back, don’t you think? Instead of pushing him out of the closet now.”

“Why?” Sean said. “What’s so special about this trip?”

William just smiled and shook his head again, as though Sean wasn’t going to catch him out that easily.

“If you’re so good at this intuition business,” he said, “why don’t you tell me?”

“Don’t worry,” Sean said, favouring him with a tight little smile of his own. “We will.”

***

Tess refused to get back on Daz’s bike for the few miles from the Giant’s Causeway down to the little village of Bushmills. Paxo wouldn’t take her and, although Jamie offered, he was struggling to keep up solo. Neither Sean nor I wanted the added encumbrance, just in case of trouble, so in the end it was down to William to pat his pillion seat and give her a ride. She scrambled onto the Kawasaki behind him and wrapped her arms round his waist like she was using him as an oversize comfort blanket.

Daz just shrugged, fired up the Aprilia and resumed the pace he’d been setting all morning. If anything, I suppose he felt he had even more to prove now than he did before.

Either way, Paxo wasn’t about to be outridden by his mate, regardless of his sexual preferences. The two of them goaded each other to ever greater risks, scything past what little traffic we encountered and carving through bends on totally the wrong side of the road.

“Hey guys,” I said at last over the radio. “Remember Sam? This is going to end with somebody going home in an ambulance.”

Nobody replied.

Jamie and I were in the second wave with William, making progress but still going a lot more cautiously than Daz and Paxo. I occupied the small part of my mind that wasn’t tied up with the mechanics of riding the bike, with the problem at hand. Daz’s announcement explained a few things about his behaviour, but not everything. So, he’d been keyed up and worried – quite rightly, as it turned out – at how some of his mates would react. But that told nowhere near the whole story.

My eyes flicked ahead to where I could just make out Paxo, hunched over the tank of his Ducati. Paxo might be angry enough to be less cautious than William, in which case we might get something useful out of him. Not that Paxo had a very high opinion of me, but perhaps he was scared enough of Sean to tell him something. It was worth a try.

We all of us made it the short distance down to Bushmills intact, with no sign of the Vauxhall behind us. The road was teeming with other bikers and I started to get a stiff neck from all the friendly nodding I was doing.

Bushmills village itself was small and picturesque. The only odd note was the little local police station, which was bristling with razor wire and CCTV cameras. It seemed out of place in such a peaceful rural setting. That and the sprawling distillery on the outskirts.

Paxo was still sulking during the tour of the distillery but he didn’t unleash his outright hostility until we got to the tasting at the end. Then he couldn’t resist a dig about such fine whiskey being wasted on Daz – what with him being more of a Babycham man.

For a moment I thought Daz was going to rise to it, but then his shoulders came down a little and he smiled, wryly. “Well, I seem to remember it was you who got smashed out of your skull on Snowballs when we were in the third year at school together,” he said.

Tess was watching Paxo with her fists clenched by her sides like she was hoping they’d start brawling. She came close to getting her wish, then Paxo gave a bitter smile of his own and raised his tasting glass in reluctant salute. Whether it was at the reminder of his own previous drinking habits, or just how long they’d been friends, I couldn’t be sure.

“Touché,” I murmured.

“I think you’ll find that’s sláinte,” Jamie pointed out, aiming for light relief.

“Na zdoravye,” Sean put in. Of course, he would know the Russian.

“Cheers!” William said.

But Daz just pinned Paxo with one of the brilliant smiles he occasionally produced and raised his glass in very deliberate provocation.

“Bottoms up,” he said.

***

Knowing that the next leg of the journey was a run right the way down to the south end of Strangford Lough, I sought out the loos before we left Bushmills. The way Daz was behaving I wasn’t sure he’d stop on demand and nothing disrupts your concentration on a bike like a full bladder. Besides, some of the Irish roads were so bumpy it could have been disastrous, not just uncomfortable.

Just about everybody had the same idea. When I got back to the car park, it was to find only Sean was ready and waiting, and he was frowning.

“What is it?” I asked as soon as I was close to him.

He nodded across the busy car park to where there was a line of other bikes. “That Suzuki over there,” he said, indicating an old GSXR with Lucky Strike paintwork. “I’m sure I’ve seen that one a couple of times already so far this trip.

I shrugged, scanning for the grey Vauxhall. “Hardly surprising,” I said. “There were a lot of bikes on the ferry and they all seem to have had the same idea when it came to routing.”

“Hmm,” he said, ducking his head slightly and pulling a face. “Maybe.”

“If you’re bothered,” I said. “Why not give Madeleine a call with the reg number and see what she can find out?”

Sean patted the top pocket of his jacket, where I could see the slight bulge of his mobile phone.

“Already done.”

“What did you make of Tess’s reaction to the ring earlier?”

“Oh, she was definitely lying,” Sean said casually. “The interesting question is why?”

***

I took the opportunity of the stop to give Jacob another try. This time my mobile phone was playing ball and it connected right away. It seemed absurd to have such a clear line when it felt like we were in another country, regardless of official boundaries. When I’d asked after Sam and Clare I filled Jacob in on events so far, including Daz’s revelation.

“It’s an odd setup,” was all Jacob said, rather sadly, when I told him about Daz’s revelation. “But apart from these blokes following you, there hasn’t been any sign of any trouble?”

“Someone tried to run us down last night,” I said. “It was too dark to see if it was the Vauxhall crew or not.”

“And you think it was definitely deliberate?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It had that feel to it. It would help if they’d come clean with us about what they’re up to. It turns out that Tess is wearing a fortune in diamonds and we’ve no idea where the money for that came from. I’m sorry, Jacob, but if it’s drugs, Sean and I are out of here.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” Jacob said quickly. “Jamie wouldn’t be so stupid as to get himself mixed up in something like that, I promise you.”

“Maybe,” I said, still dubious despite his reassurances. “We’re down to Portaferry next, apparently. We’ll see if we can prise any more information out of the lads then about what’s going on. Who knows? When they’ve had a few drinks they might be a bit more forthcoming.”

***

The others arrived back in dribs and drabs – Paxo first, then William. Jamie and Daz arrived together.

“You not worried about being seen coming out of a public toilet at the same time as him?” Paxo asked Jamie, his tone sour.

Daz’s face twitched like he’d finally had enough. He rounded on his mate, jaw set.

“Look, Pax, you weren’t accusing me of shagging anything that moved yesterday, were you? So, what’s changed, huh?” he snapped, almost but not quite hiding the hurt in his voice. “OK, so I’ve admitted I’m gay. That, given a choice, in the right circumstances, my preference would be for a guy rather than a girl. That doesn’t suddenly make me a slag, does it?”

Paxo’s lips twisted in disgust. “Frankly, mate,” he said, wheeling away, “I have no idea quite what that makes you.”

“I knew he’d be like this,” Daz said, not quite hiding the bitter note in his voice. “When I was in art college down in Manchester it was practically the norm. Get further north and it’s like some people still don’t know it’s legal.”

It was a relief, once Tess had reappeared, to get back on the road. The Suzuki rider hadn’t shown up to claim his bike and it was still sitting there when we pulled out of the car park and headed south.

We ran down through Ballymoney and dropped into the top end of Belfast on the urban motorway. I noticed signposts off for the Falls area and wondered how my father had felt, working there when the Troubles were more or less at their height. Apart from that one occasion during dinner with Sean, he’d never talked about his time in Northern Ireland. Mind you, he wasn’t exactly the reminiscing type, good or bad.

Eventually, we crossed the River Lagan and started heading east, past the Stormont parliament building, for Newtownards. Daz seemed to have settled now. He let Paxo overtake him and, when the smaller guy realised that he wasn’t going to get a battle out of him, he calmed down a little, too.

At Newtownards we turned off onto the smaller A road that skirted the eastern side of Strangford Lough. The ride took us through more stunning scenery as we wended our way through Comber and Greyabbey.

I’d no idea the place was so pretty. Not exactly a side to it you ever used to hear about on the evening news, where the only images you ever saw were of six-year-olds hurling Molotovs at burning APCs against a backdrop of balaclava’d funeral salutes and paramilitary murals on the ends of terrace houses. The reality was a revelation.

Even our tail seemed to have backed off. The Vauxhall was notable by its absence and, though I looked hard at all the bikes we met, I didn’t spot the Lucky Strike Suzuki among them.

By the time we reached Portaferry it was six o’clock and I was beginning to feel the effects of my largely sleepless night. I was glad when we finally turned off the road into a small private car park by a cosy looking hotel right on the harbour side.

There was an awkward moment when we checked in, owing to the number of rooms that had originally been booked against the number of people who’d actually turned up. That and who, in the light of the day’s events, was prepared to share with who.

William’s snoring was obviously preferable, in Jamie and Paxo’s eyes, to the alternative of sharing with Daz. The clearly confused girl on the reception desk handled it all with remarkable patience, nevertheless.

Eventually she managed to allocate a family room that had two twin beds and a pullout sofa for the three lads, and two single rooms for Daz and Tess. Then she looked at Sean with a resigned expression on her face. He smiled at her. “We’ll just have a straightforward double,” he said and I realised I’d been holding my breath.

We unloaded the bikes and carried our bags upstairs. Nobody seemed to have brought more than a small tank bag, a rucksack, or throw-over panniers. No point when we were only here for another two days. It struck me then that half the trip was nearly gone already and so far the Devil’s Bridge Club hadn’t done anything that might require them to need a pair of bodyguards in tow.

Tomorrow we were due to cross the border for the run down to Dublin.

What the hell did they have planned then?

***

The bar at the hotel was small – too small for the seven of us to sit round in comfort. Instead, once we were showered and changed into our civvies, we headed out into the evening sunshine and walked up the steep main street in search of another watering hole.

“At least this way,” Tess said, puffing out a breath as she eyed the climb, “we’ll be going downhill on the way back.”

“Yeah,” Paxo put in, grinning at her. “Have too much to drink tonight and we can just roll you back down to the hotel instead of having to carry you.”

We found a pub at the top of the hill which, after an initial moment of restraint, proved welcoming. Nevertheless, Sean and I steered the group to a corner table with a clear view of the door. We also made sure we grabbed the chairs that meant we could keep an eye on the rest of the room without making it obvious.

We chose from the menu and Daz went to order the food from the barman and get the first round of drinks in.

“You must have come across a load of queers when you were in the army, eh?” Paxo said to Sean. He was watching Daz move across the other side of the room like he was trying to spot the difference in the way he walked.

“They’ve only just changed the rules to allow it,” Sean said calmly. “When I was in, the Powers That Be took a very dim view. If they found out you were gay, you were out. Counted as ‘dishonourable conduct’, apparently.”

“Maybe it’s because they didn’t do pink camouflage,” Tess said, waspish.

“The Spartans positively encouraged homosexuality in their soldiers,” William said reflectively. “They reckoned it made them fight more fiercely alongside each other.”

“Yeah,” Paxo said, “and look what happened to them.”

“One of the guys who works for me now is gay,” Sean said, making me automatically do a mental review of his staff, trying to work out who. “It makes no difference.”

“A gay bodyguard?” Paxo repeated. He shook his head in disbelief. “Ah mate, what kind of a bloke would want someone protecting them who might make a pass at him?”

“What’s the guy’s sexual orientation got to do with how well he does his job?” Sean asked, sounding impatient now. “Charlie’s a bodyguard. Are you trying to tell me she can’t protect men for the same reason?”

“Yeah, but she’s not gay,” Jamie said with a grin. “I mean, if she was, would a woman want her looking after them?”

“Now that would be different,” Paxo said with a hint of glee, flicking his eyes from me to Tess and back again. “Everyone knows lesbians’ll shag anything in a skirt. Bring it on!”

“My sister’s gay and she’s been in a steady relationship for the last eight years,” William said, his voice suddenly cold. He fixed Paxo with an icy glare and watched his confusion for a couple of beats before adding, “Confucius say: when in hole, mate, stop digging.”

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Paxo muttered, still rather pink around the ears. “I thought they were just flat-mates.”

Daz came back with the first of the drinks and raised his eyebrows at Paxo’s scowling face and William’s equally stony expression.

“Well,” he murmured, wry. “This looks like being a fun-packed evening, doesn’t it?”

***

The first signs of trouble lit up about an hour later. The boys had come to an uneasy truce and, after a couple of beers each, the conversation had relaxed back onto something like its old footing. Tess now seemed to be making a play for Jamie and he wasn’t resisting too hard, although he did keep shooting little worried glances in Daz’s direction, as if just making sure he really didn’t object.

The pub had filled up gradually and all the tables were now occupied. The demographic was younger than I’d expected for such a sleepy little place, mostly young men who could well have been other visiting bikers. Out of leathers it was hard to tell.

Sean subjected everyone to the same casual scrutiny when they arrived and, sitting next to him, I could tell the moment something changed.

“What is it?”

“There’s a table of lads over near the far window,” he said to Daz. “Without making it obvious, can you have a look and tell me if you know them?”

To his credit, Daz made a reasonably convincing job of glancing around as though to check the location of the gents’ but, when he turned back, he leaned forwards conspiratorially. The others did the same and I saw a flicker of annoyance on Sean’s face.

“Not a clue, mate,” Daz said. “Why, what’s the problem?”

“They keep looking over here and nudging each other,” Sean said, his voice low. “I think we should drink up and find another bar.”

“Suits me,” Paxo said, shrugging as he reached for his beer and sat back.

I let my eyes pass over the group Sean had indicated. I hadn’t noticed anything amiss about them but, now I looked more closely, I could see they were quietly egging each other on. Question was, to what?

It didn’t take long to find out.

Before we’d had time to polish off our current round of drinks, the biggest of the group got to his feet and came swaggering across like he had a six-shooter and spurs. The others followed a few paces behind and what worried me was the fact that, although they’d finished their drinks, they hadn’t put down their bottles and glasses. As unobtrusively as I could, I eased my chair back.

“So, which one of you fuckers is the fucking queer?” The big man spoke with an aggressive local accent.

For a moment there was utter silence. It lasted for maybe no longer than a year – or it felt that way, at least. During that time a whole string of interconnected thoughts whipped through my brain. Everything from the way the group moved, both individually and as a whole, to who else had noticed what was going on. The barman had frozen like a terrier that scents a fox, instincts honed by years of dealing with belligerent drunks.

Then there came the hollow scrape of a chair going back. I flicked my eyes sideways and found, to my surprise, it was Paxo who’d got to his feet, hands clenched and chin thrust forwards.

“Who wants to know?” he demanded.

The big Irishman grinned nastily. If he’d been able to pick which of us he’d wanted to take on, Paxo would probably have been his first or second choice.

Before the man had the chance to express his glee, another chair went back. This time it was William who got to his feet. I saw the Irishman take a mental step back as William rose to his full height. William’s dark face was the same ominous mask he’d worn when I first encountered him at the hospital.

William didn’t speak, just stood with his arms folded, rocked back on his heels slightly, head a little on one side. A second later Jamie was on his feet next to him.

“Whoa, hold up guys.”

Daz put down his drink and stood, looking shaken. Nothing to do with the challenge, I realised. Everything to do with the response.

He faced the Irishman, defiant. “You got a problem with me?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“So you’re the fucking queer, then?” the man said, glancing back to make sure his mates were right behind him before he took the final step.

“That’s right,” Daz said.

“Me too!” Jamie threw in, his voice a little high and wild. He sounded breathless, but that would be the adrenaline shot. The fight was almost inevitable now and his system was cranking up for it, the tension racking his nerves tight as rigging.

“No, no,” William murmured, “I think you’ll find that I’m Spartacus.”

The Irishman laughed without understanding the joke. His mates joined in, the sound loud and primitive, pumping them up, driving them on. Then Sean stood up and they stopped laughing.

You couldn’t deny there was something inherently violent about Sean. It wasn’t just the size of him or even the way he moved, it was the way his thought processes were wired. There were times when, in some subtle way, he could make them show on the outside. It was what made people step into the gutter to avoid a confrontation with him when he was walking down a narrow pavement.

But now I noticed his stance was different. He was keeping it open, hands up a little, fingers outstretched. Hardly anyone in that room would have noticed that he could have turned passive appeasement into aggression in an instant. Walk away now and I’ll do the same, he was saying, but take me on and I will flatten you.

The Irishman was either too drunk, or too inexperienced, to respond to this escape route when it was offered to him. He took another step forwards.

“OK now lads, let’s have this outside,” the barman called across. “Go on, in the street with you – I’ll not have you brawling in my place! The po-lice are on their way.”

It was the perfect opportunity for a climb-down and, just when I thought the Irishman might still be just sober enough to take it, Daz took a step forwards.

“You heard the man,” he said softly to the Irishman. “You up for this, or what?”

The fight kicked off almost before we were all out of the door. The pub had no car park, so the entrance spilled us all straight onto the heavy slope of the street, across a metre of pavement, then into the road.

Daz went for a pre-emptive strike, launching a fast but amateur blow to the Irishman’s head. After that, it was a messy free-for-all. I grabbed Tess and got her out of the firing line, then stayed on the outskirts. Sean saw what I was doing and gave me the slightest fraction of a nod in response.

Group fights are hard and fast and dirty and you’re as likely to get thumped by one of your own team as you are by the opposition. You need a sniper who can stay on the periphery and only join in when things are going badly for your side.

So, when the guy who Daz had hit waded in using his empty beer bottle as a club, I edged in behind them and kicked the back of the guy’s knees out from underneath him, then ducked away again.

Paxo had clearly done martial arts of some description. He fought with more balance and style than I would have expected, but made the mistake of getting too fancy and took a nasty couple of hits to the ribs as a result. As soon as his opponent had his back to me, I slammed a couple of short hard shots into the guy’s kidneys. He grunted but by the time he had the breath to look round, I was gone.

William was relying on brute force and sheer weight, swinging his fists wildly and missing his target more than he was hitting it, but at least his swatting fists kept the blows away from him.

Jamie had seemed to be holding his own, but I saw him go down out of the corner of my eye. Next thing he was curled on the ground with two of them getting stuck in. One was laying in with his boots, but the other had picked up a piece of smashed glass.

“Sean!” I shouted and, despite the chaos, he turned instantly, unaffected by the usual tunnelling of sight and sound. The guy he’d been fighting was on the floor at his feet. He saw Jamie down and jumped for one of his attackers. I abandoned my detached stance and went for the other.

My opponent was bigger than I was but hampered by his instinctive reluctance to hit a woman. He’d also already been giving it his all for more than thirty seconds and, in a brawl, that’s a long time. Boxers spend their whole life preparing for the ring, yet are exhausted after bursts of action lasting only a couple of minutes. And this guy wasn’t a professional fighter.

I ignored the wicked piece of jagged glass in his hand and took his nose out sideways with my first sweeping blow, aiming to water down his vision and distract him with the pain. After that I could choose my target. I hit him, just once, at the vulnerable point on the side of his jaw where his moustache would have come down to meet his chin, had he been wearing either. I put my bodyweight behind it. He overbalanced backwards and went crashing.

The lad who’d been facing Sean lost his nerve at that point and ran. Sean checked to see I was coping, then took off after him. When I’d made sure the guy I’d hit wasn’t going to get up again in a hurry, I went after them both.

Not that I didn’t have confidence that Sean could tackle the man he was chasing. That wasn’t what worried me.

I was scared that he could tackle him only too well.