Blood Sisters: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ all the new tools his friend had recently acquired. Gurdy knew better than to ask, but he knew the tools would have been nicked from some other poor mechanic’s garage. He picked up a large, shiny cutting tool and ran his finger down the edge; they were clearly worth a few bob as well.

      Paddy’s garage – or, more accurately, Paddy’s boss Rasta Mo’s garage – was always filled with stolen gear. From tyres and wheels to car parts, and all kinds of tools. And often there’d be whole cars in as well, waiting to be chopped, or cut and shut, to then sell on to some unsuspecting punter in a town miles away. Local branch of Kwik Fit it wasn’t.

      Because Rasta Mo wasn’t just in the car ‘repair’ business. He was also one of the biggest drug dealers in Bradford, which took up most of his time and, as Paddy was a decent mechanic, Mo let him have full run of the place. And he was certainly that – all the time Gurdy had known him, he spent all his free time with his nose under the bonnet of a car; fixing cars, he’d always said, was in his blood.

      Though he wasn’t just employed as a mechanic. In return for the privilege of more or less being Mo’s number two here, he also had to dirty his hands with the drugs. And that was where Gurdy came in. He didn’t remember when or how he had been roped in to all that stuff for Paddy, but he knew the money was good for doing very little, and though it wasn’t quite the sort of thing he wanted to be doing, nobody said no to Paddy.

      ‘Now then, me little Paki mate!’

      Gurdy jumped. How did Paddy do that? Manage to creep up on people like that? And why this pleasure in scaring the pants off people all the time? ‘Fucking hell, Paddy!’ he said, as he was slapped roundly on the back for good measure. ‘I almost shit myself! Anyway, where you been, man?’ he said, while pressing a hand against his chest to still its thumping. ‘I’ve been here ages. I thought you said eleven o’clock?’

      Paddy winked. ‘Vicky wouldn’t let me get out of bed,’ he said, grinning. ‘You know what the birds are like for a taste of the old Padster!’

      Gurdy didn’t know, and didn’t want to. He felt his cheeks begin to burn. He didn’t like it when Paddy started going on about his exploits in the kip, especially when he was on about his friend.

      ‘So?’ he asked, keen to move on to other topics. ‘What’s on the agenda for today then?’

      Paddy burst into song, which was another of the things he often did. ‘I’ve got a braaaain, pickled in cocaaaaaine,’ he crooned, and in an accent that was a pretty fair rendition of the Dillinger reggae hit, even if the words were, as ever, completely wrong. He then pulled a paper package from the inside of his parka and slammed it on the wooden workbench with a grin. ‘And this, my little Paki mate,’ he said, stroking the package lovingly, ‘is the best coke that Bradford will have seen or tasted for a long time. So good, in fact, that it’s too good for most of them, so if you look in that end cupboard, you’ll find a big tub of baby talc. I need you to get to work mixing it up for me, okay? And then the usual weighing and bagging before you take it out on the road, mate.’ He slapped Gurdy on the back again, though this time he was braced for it. Paddy winked a second time. ‘Big bucks for us this time, my friend.’

      Gurdy did as he was asked and took the talcum powder from the cupboard, but couldn’t help his nerves beginning to jangle. He always felt like this – exposed. Mo could stroll in at any time, couldn’t he? ‘Does Mo know?’ he asked. ‘I mean, you know – he’s probably already cut it himself, hasn’t he?’ Gurdy licked his dry lips. ‘He’ll do his nut if we’re doing it again.’

      Paddy put down the tool he was inspecting and without warning – not even so much as a change in his demeanour – shoved Gurdy against the brick wall. It wasn’t a violent act, exactly – almost casual, if anything. And his expression wasn’t hostile, just ever so slightly irritated. It wore the kind of look a weary teacher might give a dozy pupil, who needs telling the same thing over and over. As ever, at such times, Gurdy cursed himself. Why didn’t he just keep his trap shut?

      ‘What have I told you about all the fucking questions, eh? Eh, mate?’ Paddy asked him, almost conversationally. As if the flat of his hand wasn’t pressing hard into Gurdy’s sternum, pinning him to the wall. ‘Do I go poking my nose into your dad’s business?’ Gurdy swallowed and shook his head. ‘Exactly. No, I don’t,’ Paddy said, removing his hand and wagging a chastising finger. ‘So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just keep your trap shut and get on with it, okay?’

      Gurdy nodded, rubbing his chest as he took the talc to the bench. He hated it when Paddy got rough with him, even if it was half in jest. Even if he knew, and he did know, that Paddy would never hurt him. That it was all front. Vicky had told him that countless times. Told him Paddy thought a lot of him. He just didn’t say so, because that wasn’t his style.

      But Gurdy hated that he still had so much to learn; mostly because he never quite knew what was going to set Paddy off. Which, as he was quickly learning, could be the slightest thing. For now, anyway. One day, not too long away, he knew he’d earn Paddy’s respect.

      ‘Alright, mate,’ he said, more comfortable now there was a bit of distance between them. ‘There’s no need to start on me, is there?’ The talc still in hand, he started looking around for a knife to split the package open with. ‘I just wondered, that’s all. Last thing I want is Mo chasing us with a fucking cleaver, innit?’

      Paddy smiled. ‘Chasing you, you mean,’ he corrected, grinning as he placed his hands on the bench behind him and hoisted himself up onto it. ‘Give us a smoke, will you?’

      That was another thing. Paddy was always cadging his fags. He fished in his jeans pocket for his ten Benson & Hedges and a book of matches. ‘Here you go, mate,’ he said, almost certain Paddy would have a pack of twenty of his own inside his parka.

      Paddy lit a cigarette, then blew out the match. ‘So,’ he said conversationally, ‘how’s things, then?’

      He clearly had nowhere to be and no inclination to help. Perhaps he’d start work on his Capri when he was done smoking. ‘Doing my fucking head in,’ Gurdy admitted. ‘Expecting me to work for them all the fucking time – morning, noon and bloody night. Like I don’t have a right to my own life.’

      Paddy chuckled. ‘You know what you wanna do? You wanna tell them to fuck right off, mate. Fuck. The. Fuck. Off. Just like that.’

      Gurdy chuckled too, imagining Paddy saying that to his mother. She’d freak. Or probably faint. But at the same time, he knew, there’d be this little bit of her that would be slightly in thrall to him. He had that kind of charm. She’d probably drag him into the kitchen and feed him.

      ‘Just like that,’ Gurdy repeated. ‘Yeah, I’ll do it tonight, mate.’

      ‘Well, it’s your bed, mate. So you’ve got to lie on it, haven’t you? They’ve got different values, haven’t they? They’d have you out planting rice, or whatever it is they grow out there. Till you’re fucking forty! No, you got to put them straight. Point out that you make more dosh working a day for me than slaving away all bloody week serving cheapskate customers in their little shit hole.’

      Yeah, he was really going to do that. Just so you know, Mam, I’m a joey for Paddy Allen. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. But it seemed to be for some – those who didn’t have his parents – and for Paddy, especially so. He got away with murder with his mum and dad. Always had done apparently. They owned a bakery, with a shop at the front, and they worked all hours too – the difference was, though, that they never asked Paddy to help out. Far as Gurdy СКАЧАТЬ