Grimms81

Lizzie is as lovely as Jaz remembered her, perhaps more so, with her chiselled cheekbones and hair untamed as a burning bush. The room is stuffy and smoky, two bars on the electric fire and, overflowing ashtray on the knee-high table and within arm’s reach.  She is curled up on the couch, top button on her denims popped, white blouse, hint of breast, bare feet stretching over Dougie’s lap watching Coronation Street. Her eyes flicker from the screen to Del standing behind Jaz and then back to Hilda Ogden onscreen. Dougie ram-rod back, too straight, and the smell and heat of sex clings to their faces.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ says Del, his gaze lingering on Lizzie, but talking to Dougie, ‘but something came up.’

‘Aye,’ says Dougie, half smiling, ‘something always does’.

Del slopes off to the kitchen and takes a bottle of Glenfiddich out of the cupboard and searches for glasses to pour it. Jaz listen to the traffic below and rain beginning to fall. Any other night it would be like having a drink with a couple of mates, but it feels more like a wake and he’s the corpse. He is careful not to give anything away, sliding into the seat opposite them and pulls out his packet of cigarettes out of the top pocket of his denim jacket and tapping one out. ‘You want wan?’ he asks Lizzie.

‘No thanks,’ Lizzie shakes her head, eyes returning to the small screen.

‘Dougie?’

He shakes his head that he doesn’t. Eyes sympathetic as pebbles washed in the deepest sea. ‘Whit’s the game?’ he asks.

Del bumbles back into the living room, squeezing through the gap between chair and couch, holding the bottle and four teacups. ‘It’s aw a could find?’ he apologises.  Wedges his body into a cushion on the couch beside them, places the bottle and one cup on the floor at his feet and hands out the other cups to Dougie and Lizzie and stretches, passing one across to Jaz. He breaks the seal of the bottle and pours himself a good measure of  golden liquid and holds the bottle up to warm their eyes. The theme music of Coronation Street a background noise, with whisky in their hands Del has their full attention.

‘I’ll kill two birds with one stone, Jaz isn’t here for a social visit.’ He swills his whisky and drinks it in a oner and pours himself another. ‘But if you ask me it wisnae his fault.’

Dougie notices him looking at Lizzie’s feet. ‘Whit wasnae his fault?’   He lifts her legs off his lap and swings them around so they sit like three passengers on the same bus.

Jaz take a mouthful of whisky. ‘My wee brother Junior, killed a few Papes and noo he’s in Barlinnie.’

‘It would be pleasant if we talked in English noo or again,’ says Dougie.

Lizzie laughs and reaches for her gold Dunhill lighter and her hand disappears and comes back from the bottom of the couch with a packet of Menthol cigarettes.  ‘He can be sweet, but usually he’s a crabbit old bastard,’ she says in a tone of weariness and familiarity.  She lights a cigarette, all eyes on her, but she is used to that and a minty smell hangs in the air between them.

Del hold up the bottle, an offer of another drink no one else takes. He pours himself one. ‘The thing is…the gun he used was one of ours. In fact I think we’re pretty much fucked and they’ve got all our cache of weaponary.’ He makes it sound like aircraft, tanks and bazookas. ‘But as I said, fair’s fair I don’t think it was his fault.’ He looks into his drink. ‘I’d have done the same thing.’

Jaz considers his options, get treated as the retard in the corner, and grovel, or bite back. ‘It’s true most of the guns are gone.’

‘Most of them?’ Dougie asks. He’s angry but listening.

‘We’ve still got a Starr Pistol and some ammo.’

‘How come the police never cleaned you out, shook you down?’

‘They did, but the stupid bastards went downstairs to my ma’s house. That’s where Junior stays.’

‘Have you brought the pistol with you?’

Jaz shakes his head.

‘Is it safe?’

‘I don’t know,’ admits Jaz and tries to appear concerned. His gaze shifts to Lizzie, ‘but when you’re wee brother, who’s still in his school shorts is slashed to fuck for nae good reason and is on life support that was the least of my worries. I joined the UDA because I’m a patriot, but when you’re ain family is maimed—’ He trails off, glancing at the window behind Lizzie.

Lizzie gives him a tight smile. ‘What age is your wee brother?’

‘Seven,’ says Jaz, wondering if he’s a bit older, but figuring younger plays better. Flings back his drink and holds out his cup for a refill. ‘Cunts,’ he adds.

‘I’d a wee brother killed by the IRA,’ says Lizzie, her voice wavering and swishing her legs.

‘Aye, he was a good lad.’ Dougie pats the top of her thigh. He stares at Jaz for a few seconds, as if trying to work out how big a liar he is and shakes his head. ‘OK the clock’s ticking. I’d a few angles I was looking at. A few jobs planned.  We’ll need to move everything forward and we’ll come back to this later. Right now I want that gun and ammunition. We’ll be moving to a new safe house tonight…’

‘I’m not goin’ anywhere until I’ve had a bath and washed my hair.’ Without another words Lizzie stands up and wiggles her way past Dougie.

Del watches her ass and his face turns soft.

Dougie gives Jaz a blank look. ‘Del will take you home.’ He takes drink of whisky and motions with his hands and says to no one in particular. ‘You know something. Sometime I get a gut feeling about things…’