Free The Norway Room by Mick Scully Page B

at him was Ruthie.

10
    Call it instinct. The car turned the corner at Pinks. That’s when Carrow knew. No time for language – a grunt alerted Toga. Nearside rear passenger window descending – fast slow motion. A gun barrel. A fucking shotgun. Two shots. Roaring through the streets. Roaring up into the sky. Everything shuddered. His ears burnt as the car squealed away. But – he was still standing. And so was Toga. Standing together in silence. The doors flew open and the guys piled out. Neville and Sylvester. The two Lukes. Matty Fallon.
    He went away – for a minute. A high. I am not dead. He wanted to weep. Toga grabbed him. Rested his head on his shoulder. ‘Man.’ He let his head touch Toga’s. They had survived together.
    â€˜Man,’ Toga repeated. A whisper. Hoarse. ‘That was close.’
    The other guys whipped about them, running this way and that. Toga crouched down. Touched the pavement where a bullet had struck. Felt the shape of the scar.
    It’s an empty club except for Carrow and Toga sitting at the bar with cigarettes and beer. A novelty – smoking inside. Against house rules, doormen smoking in the club. No music. Another novelty. No bass pounding away. Stretton told them to stay behind after he’d finished his little pep talk to the team.
    He’s got everything under control, he says. This won’t happen again. ‘I’m taking the initiative from now on.’ Neville looked as if he was going to say something, but didn’t. Trudy came round with little envelopes. Her lips high-gloss pink. Her eyes swimming-pool blue. She looked only at the envelopes. ‘Carra and Toga, you two hold on,’ Stretton said. ‘I’ll sort you out myself. Pour yourselves a drink. I’ll be back.’ Everyone knows these two are in for a bigger divvy. And why not? Fair enough. They danced with the bullets, so why not?
    Stretton turned up with two wads. Dropped them on the counter. Naked fifties held in a blue rubber band. He pulled himself a whiskey from the optic. ‘It’s a grand each, lads. And like I said to the others, double time for the next few nights.’ He knocked back the whiskey. Stretched to the optic for a refill. ‘Just till I can get some hardware in.’
    â€˜Hardware?’ Carrow was shocked.
    â€˜Just a couple of straps lurking in the background.’ The second whiskey went where the first had gone, just as quick. Stretton sighed. ‘I’ll rent. From someone who’ll put the word around. Let the Chinese know what they’re taking on.’
    Toga lifted his bundle of notes from the counter. Slapped it hard into the palm of his left hand. ‘This here’s appreciated, Mr Stretton.’ His voice was slow and deep. ‘But this,’ he waved the notes, and the blue snake tattooed the length of his left arm slithered, ‘double time, treble, whatever. One of us takes a bullet in the eye – it don’t mean a thing. I know what you said. And I know it’s true. If they’d been out for a kill they’d have made one. This, tonight, sounds like it’s just putting on the pressure. Step by step.’ His finger ran across the top of the bundle of notes, fanning them. Making just the smallest breeze. ‘Yes. I’m sure that’s true. But, what’s also true, Mr Stretton, for me at least, is that that don’t make me feel a whole lot better. When the bullets come flying in my direction.’
    They’d taken a few bottles and a little weed back to Toga’s place on the Mendy. Seventeenth floor of Elgar. Neither wanted to go home alone. Or sleep. Or be inside. So, sitting wrapped in overcoats on the balcony, with the booze and the weed to keep them warm, they watched the night. The scattered lights of the estate, chains and rings, and other shapes. The changing shade of darkness as behind the tower blocks the night progressed to dawn. Black became