Read Online The Night the Rich Men Burned by Malcolm Mackay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Malcolm Mackay
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that living? A dead wife, a feckless son and a dependent grandson. No money, no job and no prospects. A small, damp flat, no car and a long walk home on his bad legs. He won’t let this happen to Oliver. His son he did nothing for. But then, his son did fuck-all for himself. Ran off, left his wife and kid. Then the wife ditches Oliver with Arnie when the kid was thirteen. Good kid, but not what Arnie wanted in his life.
Now trying to do right by the boy. Find him work. Is this doing right by him? Setting him up with Roy Bowles? It’s the last resort. Arnie spent months trying to find Oliver a legit job. Anything legit. The boy did his fair share of looking too. Just nothing out there. So it’s this or Marty Jones. That’s the only reason Arnie can justify this. The devil or the deep blue sea. Time to send Oliver swimming.
It was a long walk. Tiring and sore. He’s grumpy by the time he puts the key in the flat door and steps inside. Cold inside. Always bloody cold inside. Switching on a light, and standing outside Oliver’s bedroom door. These walls and doors are paper-thin. No privacy. Another good reason to get the boy out of the house. No sound from inside the room. Knocking and opening the door. Switching on the light. Little more than a box room. Not home. Okay, well, he’s a young fellow, can’t tie him to the flat. Out with his mate Glass, no doubt. Having a bit of fun. Fine. Lucky him. Arnie will give him the good news in the morning. For now, he’s going for a long-awaited piss. Narrow little bathroom at the end of the corridor. Then bed. His bedroom larger than Oliver’s, but small, damp and basically furnished. Struggling to sleep. Hoping Oliver isn’t doing anything stupid.
8
Didn’t sleep a lot last night. Doesn’t sleep a lot most nights. Too much to think about. Plenty of work to do today. Bavidge has a small house, in a good area. Tidy, plain, predictable. The sort of house that hardly looks lived in. A house whose occupant has no interest in creating a home. He’s a quiet neighbour, polite and well-mannered to all he meets. Occasional relationships. Never anything that lasts. He has too much sense to try to create a long-term relationship. Not with his work. With his lifestyle. That’s just asking for trouble.
Does get lonely though. One of the reasons he doesn’t much like being at home. Always alone there. He resents the loneliness that closes in on him here. No photos on the walls or mantelpiece. No hints of a hobby. No character. Just emptiness. Better to be out working. Day and night. On the streets, getting the job done. Make the money. Gain the security that comes with success. Then you settle down. Always persuading himself that that’s the plan. That he’ll see it through, and one day settle down with someone. Trying to persuade himself that that’s possible for a person like him. It’s a hard argument to keep having with himself. Cynical reality stamping on hopeless naivety.
A quick breakfast, and out of the house. Consumed by work. Into the car and deciding on his first port of call. Not Jim Holmes. Someone else can deal with that hopeless bastard. Patterson will get someone to fix his door. Patterson will call him and reassure him that they’re doing all they can. Might calm his girlfriend a bit, hearing from the boss direct. The plan to ignore the kids and focus on bigger things won’t be shared with Holmes. He’s probably still sitting on his arse in front of his couch, doing what his girlfriend tells him.
His first job is to drive past the house of Potty Cruickshank. Not exactly a job. A hobby, until there’s a plan. Big place. Old townhouse, where old money lives. Gardens too well maintained to be looked after by their owners. Estate cars and four-by-fours. Bavidge has no intention of doing anything to Potty yet. Leave him alone until Patterson decides otherwise. When that time comes, Bavidge will have to be ready.
For now he’s getting an idea of the man.
Now trying to do right by the boy. Find him work. Is this doing right by him? Setting him up with Roy Bowles? It’s the last resort. Arnie spent months trying to find Oliver a legit job. Anything legit. The boy did his fair share of looking too. Just nothing out there. So it’s this or Marty Jones. That’s the only reason Arnie can justify this. The devil or the deep blue sea. Time to send Oliver swimming.
It was a long walk. Tiring and sore. He’s grumpy by the time he puts the key in the flat door and steps inside. Cold inside. Always bloody cold inside. Switching on a light, and standing outside Oliver’s bedroom door. These walls and doors are paper-thin. No privacy. Another good reason to get the boy out of the house. No sound from inside the room. Knocking and opening the door. Switching on the light. Little more than a box room. Not home. Okay, well, he’s a young fellow, can’t tie him to the flat. Out with his mate Glass, no doubt. Having a bit of fun. Fine. Lucky him. Arnie will give him the good news in the morning. For now, he’s going for a long-awaited piss. Narrow little bathroom at the end of the corridor. Then bed. His bedroom larger than Oliver’s, but small, damp and basically furnished. Struggling to sleep. Hoping Oliver isn’t doing anything stupid.
8
Didn’t sleep a lot last night. Doesn’t sleep a lot most nights. Too much to think about. Plenty of work to do today. Bavidge has a small house, in a good area. Tidy, plain, predictable. The sort of house that hardly looks lived in. A house whose occupant has no interest in creating a home. He’s a quiet neighbour, polite and well-mannered to all he meets. Occasional relationships. Never anything that lasts. He has too much sense to try to create a long-term relationship. Not with his work. With his lifestyle. That’s just asking for trouble.
Does get lonely though. One of the reasons he doesn’t much like being at home. Always alone there. He resents the loneliness that closes in on him here. No photos on the walls or mantelpiece. No hints of a hobby. No character. Just emptiness. Better to be out working. Day and night. On the streets, getting the job done. Make the money. Gain the security that comes with success. Then you settle down. Always persuading himself that that’s the plan. That he’ll see it through, and one day settle down with someone. Trying to persuade himself that that’s possible for a person like him. It’s a hard argument to keep having with himself. Cynical reality stamping on hopeless naivety.
A quick breakfast, and out of the house. Consumed by work. Into the car and deciding on his first port of call. Not Jim Holmes. Someone else can deal with that hopeless bastard. Patterson will get someone to fix his door. Patterson will call him and reassure him that they’re doing all they can. Might calm his girlfriend a bit, hearing from the boss direct. The plan to ignore the kids and focus on bigger things won’t be shared with Holmes. He’s probably still sitting on his arse in front of his couch, doing what his girlfriend tells him.
His first job is to drive past the house of Potty Cruickshank. Not exactly a job. A hobby, until there’s a plan. Big place. Old townhouse, where old money lives. Gardens too well maintained to be looked after by their owners. Estate cars and four-by-fours. Bavidge has no intention of doing anything to Potty yet. Leave him alone until Patterson decides otherwise. When that time comes, Bavidge will have to be ready.
For now he’s getting an idea of the man.
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