Cowboy's last stand (part 2 of 2)

Hammell’s flat, later that night:

Imagine my surprise then when I find my front door busted down. Literally. Right off its hinges and splintered lying on my nice new carpet. First thoughts? Fuck, what have I done to deserve this? Assaulted and then burgled on the same day, I mean just how unlucky can one guy get? I stepped over my now horizontal door and switched on the hallway light, to reveal the bombsite that was what was left of my once lovely and semi tidy flat. Going through to the living room, the couch had been tossed over and paintings ripped from the wall and flung onto the wooden floor. Glass crunched under my shoes as, in shock, I surveyed the full extent of the damage. My computer lay smashed on the study floor. My bedroom was another site of carnage, clothes everywhere. My final destination was the kitchen. Broken crockery everywhere. Searching despondently I managed to find one unbroken mug, picked the kettle up off the floor, filled it with water and went about making myself a cup of tea. I would need to phone the cops I guessed, but couldn’t face it just yet. Not after having just come back from that nick. I could imagine their response, and I’d had my fill of questions for one day. Anyway, things would seem better after a proper cuppa. It was as I went searching for the milk that I spotted it. Sign written in very precise, very neat handwriting, all letters capitalised. It was pinned to the fridge front, with one of my fridge magnets and read as follows:

“I’M GONNA FUCK YOU REAL BAD MISTER HAMMELL!!!”

I reckoned unhappily that it probably wasn’t an ex? But it made no sense. No sense at all. Who’d want to hurt me? I mean I’m no angel but really when all is said and done I don’t live a bad life. Try to keep my head down, can’t say that I have any real enemies. Taking my cuppa through to the living room, I slumped down onto the ground (my back against one of the walls) and pondered my sorry situation. Whilst I stand by my earlier claim that I have no real enemies, this does not mean that there aren’t people who dislike me. Maybe my landlord had finally flipped after one late rent cheque too many? Then there was Keith, the irate boyfriend of one of my exes, a frizzy haired dizzy brained filly called Annabel. Still hasn’t forgiven me for the fact that I had a brief romantic aberration with his sweetheart (they were ‘taking a break’ at the time, so I feel I was justified) but the spelling of the fridge threat was too accurate for the great big dyslexic fool. Whatever, somebody seemingly had a gripe with me, and was promising bodily harm. That was enough for me. I decided that I couldn’t face talking to the cops, and didn’t want to wait around for the intruder to return. So, I decided that I would go and crash at my lady’s flat. It was stupid and irrational I know to leave my flat wide open like that, but hey it was already thrashed, what else of value was left for any thief to nick?

--

Sabrina’s flat, later that night:

I’ve been going out with Sabrina McLaughlin for nearly six months. It’s pretty much the perfect relationship. When we’re together it’s intense and passionate; still got that can’t keep our hands off each other thing going on. But, equally, we don’t live together, we have our own space, she doesn’t mind if I go down the bar for a few bevies, or stay in to watch the footie. One day, who knows, I might even marry her but for now it’s good old fashioned and unbridled lust that is the glue that holds us together.

On the way across town I tried phoning her, twice, but she must have had her phone off so I had to make do with leaving a message.
“Hey Babycakes, you’ll never believe the day I’ve had. Just discovered I’ve been burgled! On way round to see you. Hope that’s okay? Bye”
Half an hour, and one bus ride, later and I’m outside her block of flats. I press the buzzer and wait for her to respond. No answer. Daft cow must be playing her music too loud? Or on the toilet maybe? I wait several seconds, then try again, this time holding the buzzer button down for what seems like an eternity. Eventually a voice crackles through the door entry system.
“Who’s there?!”
“It’s me”
“Fuck”
“Fuck? That’s hardly any way to greet me?”. I laugh.
“What do you want?”
“I want to come in baby, what do you think I want? Hey, is something wrong?”
“No. ... No, nothing’s wrong. Why would you think that?”
“Oh nothing. Hey, it’s cold out here. You gonna let me in?”
“I’m tired Mark. You woke me, I was sleeping.”
“Sorry. Didn’t realise. But I could do with chatting. Did you get my message?”
“What message?”
“The one I left on your phone”
“My phone’s not been on”
“Yes, I know that. That’s why I had to leave a message.”
“Then why ask me if I’d seen it?”
“Look, can we continue this conversation inside? It’s bloody Baltic out here!”
A pause that grows longer with every fraction of a second that passes.
“Um ….”
“What?!”
“Yeah, okay. …. Just wait a minute”
I go to shout that I’ve already been waiting several minutes but all’s gone quiet. Then the door release buzzer sounds and, with my good arm, I gratefully shove the door open. I’m pissed off now. It’s not been a good day. Dislocated shoulder, burgled, some unknown freak wishes further bodily harm upon me, and now my lady’s being all snippy!

The door opens and there stands Sabrina, looking apologetically sheepish. Too damn right after keeping me waiting all that time! But there’s something more about her demeanour that has alarm bells ringing. Her hair’s a mess. Okay, it would be if she’s just been sleeping. But she’s got lipstick on and I can see that she’s wearing her best lingerie, that navy blue silken thing that she wore the first night we slept together. She’s pulled her grotty old dressing gown over it, but the gown’s not tied tightly enough to obscure the glimpse of lingerie-boosted cleavage that I spy. I don’t believe she’s in the habit of putting on lipstick and wearing her best frillies to bed? I’m immediately suspicious.

“How are you darling?” Sabrina coos, moving in to kiss me.
I break away, and look beyond her towards the bedroom. “Who you got here?”
“What do you mean, darling?”
“Who’ve you got here?! You’ve got a man, haven’t you? I can tell, I’m not draft you know. It’s that bastard from across the way, isn’t it? I’ve seen the way that you look at him.”
“Don’t be absurd! Here, come through and have a seat”.
She tried to lead me through to the living room but I’m having none of it. Instead, I thunder through to the bedroom.
“Mark!” she yells.
“Where is he?!”. I fling back the wardrobe doors, expecting that tanned bastard to be cowering in amongst my work shirts. But it’s empty. I stoop and peer under the bed, but again nothing. My anger’s starting to dissipate. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe there wasn’t anyone? An innocuous mistake? I feel my cheeks start to redden with embarrassed guilt.
“Honey” I say, my voice full of apology.
“Don’t even!” she blurts indignantly. Then her anger cools and she come forward and we embrace. I can smell her sweet flowery scented perfume, and her body feels deliciously warm and soft held against mine.
“Oooh, you’ve hurt your shoulder!” she sympathises, noticing at last that I am holding it awkwardly. “You poor baby! Did someone hurt my baby?!”.
She says all this in the kind of syrupy way that people normally only reserve for dealing with babies or puppies. It should be nice, comforting, but it has the opposite effect. It makes me suspicious again. I hadn’t told her that someone had hurt me. Sure, I’d phoned from the police station but, again, the phone had been off, and I couldn’t be bothered to leave a message. I could have fallen down the stairs, or been in an accident, it didn’t necessarily have to have been caused by someone hurting me?
I resist Sabrina’s attempts to lure me into bed. They seem, for once, half hearted on her behalf, and likewise, for once, I find myself not interested. Instead, I go through to the kitchen and get myself a beer from the fridge. I notice an empty beer can sitting on one of the kitchen surfaces. Has Sabrina suddenly become a beer drinker? I snort, shake my head and wearily trudge through to the living room. Sabrina’s already lounging provocatively on the settee. I cross the room, sweep her feet up off the settee, so that I can sit down properly. She sighs with mock disappointment. I pop the can and take a large thirst quenching sip. It’s then that I notice that the door to the adjoining study is closed tight. We never have it closed. Sorry, Sabrina never has it closed; it is her flat after all, not mine. I get up and pad cautiously towards the door. Sabrina’s suddenly animated.
“Hey honey! What are you doing? Come here, I haven’t seen you all day. I want some lovin’!”
This time I’m not to be fooled. I pull the door wide open. The light’s off, so it’s dark inside, but not dark enough. There hunkered down in the far corner, holding half his clothes in his trembling hands is Davie! My Davie! My best friend Davie! The bastard!!

Now usually I deplore violence. But there’s a time and a place for it, and this seemed like a pretty good bloody time and place. I pull my foot back to kick the bastard. I hear Sabrina shout “No!” in the background but I’m fucked if I give a damn. I see Davie put his arms out, palms facing me, with a pathetic imploring look on his face. I pull my kick so that instead of hitting him with force, it just barely makes contact.
“Ouch!”
“Fuck Davie!”
He’s too shamefaced to say anything.
“We were only …. “ begins Sabrina, her voice shaking.
“I know what you were only!” I say, my voice rising an octave. “You gonna get up?” I enquire of Davie.
“You gonna hit me?”
“You’re not worth it!”
I turn and stalk back through to the living room. I’m aware that my fist is tightly balled by my side. My other fist isn’t balled but only because that shoulder continues to hurt. I feel tired, terribly weary. I need to sit, feel like I’m going to faint, or vomit or both ... if such a thing is possible? Suddenly the beer has lost its appeal. Sensing that I’m in danger of puking over her nice carpet, Sabrina darts through to the kitchen and at remarkable speed returns with a glass of water. I sip it gingerly. The room has developed an atmosphere that I’m sure should be capable of being cut. Luckily, I don’t have a knife in my hand; otherwise the atmosphere might not be all I’d try to cut.

You ever notice how some people aren’t comfortable with a lengthy silence? I think both Davie and Sabrina fall into that category of people. Me, I’m fine with silence. I can sense their heightening unease at the unnatural and brooding quiet that has enveloped us.
“Honey, you okay?”
I look up at Sabrina from behind drooping eyelids. I don’t respond.
“Hey Marky Mark, we were only chattin’, you know how it is, but it would have looked bad to you, I can see”
I round on Davie. “So, that why you were cowering in the study with the light off?”
“Aye mate. Didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, and be all hurt and that, like”
“It was 'me' that you were worried would get hurt? How very sweet! Pull the other one ...”
“You were burgled?!”. Sabrina’s just played back my voice mail on her phone. Her eyes are wide with shock.
“You were burgled?!” Davie jumps in, eager I sense at the change of topic.
I nod wearily.
“Did you call the cops? What did they take?” Concern from Sabrina.
“No. Not much”
“You didn’t call the cops?!” a rebuke this time from Sabrina. I’m sure she thinks such an omission to be crazy. It probably is on reflection.
“You didn’t call the cops?!” adds Davie.
“What are you a parrot now?” I snap.
“What do you mean?” replies Davie, mildly offended.
“Stop repeating everything Sabs says!”. I can feel the heat returning, my fist balling again.
“I’m not!” Davie’s body language has become more aggressive.
“You kinda are” laughs Sabrina, jumping in between us before things get too heated.
I can’t believe I was getting close to thumping the twat over an argument about whether or not he was repeating what Sabs was saying! Considering that I couldn’t find the strength to hit him for fucking my girlfriend.

Any thought of continuing the argument, however, is forestalled by a resounding pounding at the front door.
“Who the fuck?” swears Sabrina. The noise had startled her, made her jump from her seat.
“A neighbour?” I ask.
“We have been shouting a bit, suppose?” tacks on Davie.
“Don’t think so?” replies Sabrina, getting to her feet cautiously and staring at the front door from the living room. Like that’s gonna reveal who’s out there!
“Only one way we’re gonna find out” I state, resignedly. With my luck it’s probably the Polis telling us that we’ve been served with an ASBO and need to pay a whopping fine!
The thumping starts up again. I rise to my feet.
“It’s okay. I’ll get it” says Sabrina. “It’s my flat”.
Davie and I follow her through to the hallway. Moral support.

Her initial jumpiness now replaced with a bristling anger, Sabrina marches towards her door.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming – keep you’re hair on!”
She twists the latch and pulls the door open.
I almost faint with surprise. Davie must feel likewise. There, standing in front of us, a bit more blood spattered than before, is Cowboy!
“What the fuck?!” I splutter.
“Which one of you homo fucks is Hammell?” Cowboy barks, jamming his foot squarely in the door to prevent any attempt to close it on his ugly face.
“Who?” enquires Sabrina. I’m not sure which of us her question is directed at.
When no-one answers, she adds “What do you want?”
Cowboy’s chewing on something. He makes a big show of chomping it around in his mouth, then spits out a disgusting globule of brown sticky tobacco.
“Ew!” remarks Sabrina. She’s looking at me, like I’m to blame for the fact that this freak’s standing at her door, messing up her landing.
“Terrible habit. Do excuse me, Mam” prattles Cowboy. “Hope y’all don’t mind if I come inside?”
Before we’ve had a chance to respond, he’s barged his way past us and heads through to the living room, where he proceeds to make himself comfortable upon the settee.
“Tea maybe?” enquires Sabrina sarcastically.
“Don’t mind if I do. Milk and two sugars is how I take it.”
Sabrina huffs, and stands stock still with her hands planted upon her hips. I’ve seen that look. It normally spells trouble.
I look across at Cowboy. He definitely spells trouble.
“Fuck do you want?” I ask, skipping niceties.
“Which of you pricks is Hammell?”
He scrutinises both me and Davie and consults a battered sheet of paper that he’s pulled from a jacket pocket.
How come this doesn’t surprise me? The day I’ve had, I should have suspected this. But what does the great big ugly fuck want with me? Maybe he’s from the National Lottery and has tracked me down to tell me that I’ve won ten million quid? Then again, maybe not.
“He’s Hammell”. This from Davie, who is pointing at me. It looks too as if he’s taken a step away from me. Somehow I’m not feeling the love from Davie boy today.
“Davie?!” I protest.
“You sure?” says Cowboy, scratching the bristles on the side of his face. He consults his sheet again. “Guess so. It says here that you’re a scrawny fuck. Could apply to both of youse. Maybe I should break both your necks, just to be sure, eh?”
“What?!” Outrage and alarm cause my voice to come out more squeaky than I would like. The pain in more shoulder suddenly feels much more immediate. “What do you want with me? What have I ever done?”
“Yeah, what’s he ever done?!” This from an irate Sabrina. “Get out of my flat or I’ll call the cops!”
“Oh you wouldn’t do that” remarks Cowboy levelly. He saunters over to where the phone sits, on a little glass topped side table. He grabs the phone and rips it out from the mains.
Davie chooses this minute to do a runner. Cowboy spins and flicks out an immaculate pro boxer’s jab, catching Davie on the side of his chin. It poleaxes him. He lands noisily on the carpeted floor, his head bouncing painfully on impact.
“Get him on this settee!” snarls Cowboy. Sabs and I decide not to argue. We pull the heavily dazed Davie up onto wobbly legs and steer him gingerly over to the settee where he collapses amongst the cushions. His mouth’s bleeding. The settee and cushions will stain but Sabrina decides it would be inappropriate to chide him. Instead, her attention’s focused on the maniac currently occupying her living room.
Cowboy’s taken a step forward towards us. He looks all menacing intent, cracking his knuckles and humming a country ditty.
“Fuck!” I exclaim. “Why?”
“You don’t know?!” exclaims Cowboy. His surprise seems genuine.
“Course I don’t fuckin’ know! I’ve never seen you ‘til this afternoon in Boyles!”
Cowboy grunts. “Course you never seen me before” he laughs. It’s not a nice laugh. “But you messed with Earl on your wee visit to Aberdeen, with his Maria to be more precise. Ring any bells?!”
“No!!” I yell. “I’ve never even been to Aberdeen! No intention to ever go! Don’t know anyone called Maria!”
Davie’s making groaning noises from the settee. It causes Cowboy, Sabrina and I to turn momentarily. Davie looks ashen faced.
“Hey!” says Sabrina suddenly. “You were in Aberdeen last month weren’t you Davie?!”
“Yes!” I shout, suddenly animated. “You had that business trip there. Stayed the weekend, if I remember correctly?”
“Aye but ..." stutters Davie weakly from his prone position.
Cowboy’s looking confused. He’s half poised to punch me, but now he’s stopped stock still, obviously trying to make sense of this new development.
“Looks like this has just been one big misunderstanding?” I suggest helpfully.
“So you’re not Hammell; he is?” Cowboy asks.
“No” I reply uncertainly.
At this point Sabrina thankfully butts in to assist Cowboy’s comprehension.
“Looks to me as if it was Davie who ‘messed’ with this Maria”. She spits out the words messed and Maria with quite a lot of venom. I wonder just how long she and Davie boy have been carrying on behind my back?
Cowboy’s still unsure. At least his poise has relaxed a little. The prospect of violence looks slightly less imminent.
“But you’re Hammell?” he counters, staring at me. “And it says here, in my note from Earl, that Hammell was the one that done it?” He’s obviously hanging onto what until a few moments ago he counted as the certainties in this grubby little affair.
All eyes, once again, return to Davie. He’s starting to feel a little less sick, and has manoeuvred himself into an upright position on the settee.
“Um ... I knew she was a married woman” he confesses. “My business acquaintance, Declan, told me that she was bad news. You see I’d been dancing with her in this nightclub. She was well up for it! Declan told me that her old man was a thug and that he’d break both my legs if he found out. Told me not to give her my real name ….”
“So you gave her mine?!” I say, outraged at this latest betrayal.
“Well, I couldn’t think of anything else. It was an on the spot decision. Never thought it would come to nothing!” He looks genuinely sorry, a defeated man, ready to take the consequences.
Cowboy steps forward, but towards me rather than Davie. He extends his hand to me.
“Sorry big man. Nearly a big mix up there, eh?!”
I decline his handshake offer.
“Why did you start the fight in Boyles?” I demand. This still doesn’t make sense to me.
“Heard you drank there”
“How did you hear?”
“Asked around.” Cowboy shrugs his shoulders. Looks like he’s not prepared to reveal his sources, and I decide not to push the point.
Instead I ask “Still don’t understand why you started the fight?”
Cowboy shrugs again. “Didn’t mean to. Had intended to get the barman to point you out. But then that big ugly bastard picked a fight”
“Kermit” I explain, mainly for the benefit of Sabrina.
“Meant I had to change tactics” explained Cowboy
“My flat?”
“Yes, ‘cept you weren’t there an’ I could’nae be bothered waiting so I went to get myself a fish supper”
“And how did you find me here?!” I ask.
Cowboy taps his nose. “There’s lots of stuff I know. Easy to find stuff out if you have the right connections. Some of my connections are better than the Polis for knowing things. Some of them are in the Polis!”. He laughs. It’s a harsh unfriendly sound.
“So what now?” I ask, although I fear that I know the answer.
Davie fears it too. He’s sitting up but he’s pale as a ghost, and his hands are trembling.
Cowboy looks at me as if I’m an imbecile.
“What now?!” he laughs. “What now is that I beat the seven shades outta yer friend here. Youse can vacate the premises if youse don’t want to watch. I’ll close the door on me way out.”
“Okay” I reply.
This causes grunts and stares of accusation from both Davie and Sabrina.
“The day I’ve had” I explain, “I just want to go home and get some sleep”
“Good decision, mate” remarks Cowboy.
I grab hold of Sabrina and drag her with me, as I go to depart.
“Mark! Fuck’s sake! We can’t leave him!”
I tug harder and extend a smile to Cowboy that says ‘Women, eh – what can you do with them?’
He relaxes and turns his attention fully to Davie boy who has begun to back away. He’s crawling up the settee like that’s going to help.
“Don’t fuck him up too bad” I exalt from behind Cowboy’s back.
Cowboy grunts in response. I’m not sure whether this means that he will or won’t go easy?
I drag Sabrina through to the hallway and towards the front door.
We can hear Davie trying to reason with Cowboy. That’s a ploy that seems to me destined to fall on deaf ears.
I click the latch on the door and start to pull it open.
Suddenly I hear the commotion of booted feet on the stairwell. Uniforms. Shouts.
Sabrina and I flatten ourselves against a wall as the cops barge through, shouting orders. “Police!”, “Hands on heads!”. We comply.
Through in the living room, Cowboy’s barely had time to get off his first punch. Having pulled Davie to his feet, he’s delivered a short sharp punch to the stomach. It causes Davie to crumple, clutching his gut and gasping.
But now it’s Cowboy, not Davie, who’s trapped. He rushes to the window, as the cops enter the living room.
“Stop! Police!” we hear them shout.
“Fuck youse all!” is his defiant response, accompanied by a single finger gesture.
He’s opened the window.
“Stop! …” yells the lead cop again.
It’s no good though. Cowboy’s not going to be taken alive. No fuckin’ cavalry gonna take this cowboy.
He clambers through the opened window and jumps.
“ ... that’s a two story drop” adds the cop, completing his sentence.
It all goes quiet.
Then, “Fuck! Shit! God-dammit! I think I’ve bust me legs!”
Sabs and I come through to the living room. The cops don’t seem to be taking much interest in us. They’re all intent in craning for a view out the window, like schoolboys trying to peer through the key-hole into the girl’s locker room.
We help Davie to his feet.
Nothing’s said.
I wonder where we all go from here?

THE END