Wolf Iron

Chapter 19 / A Bit of Jack

Barlow blew smoke out the car window and watched it rush behind. He felt himself a right bossman at the moment.  He was sitting shotgun in an old beater with a suspiciously large boot smoking fags with a stranger like it was the most natural thing in the world. And they both wanted the same thing. To see someone else suffer.

Barlow looked to his right, to the man driving, the one who called himself Giles; one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the window. He had a terribly sallow complexion, with discolored patches ranging from brown to darker brown all over his face. The topper half of his lips were scabby and his nose hairs were as unruly and devious as his eyebrows. His ears as well, stuck out, and seemed to twitch at random and vibrate at every sound. He was an odd looking man, that was for sure. But Barlow, looking down at the paunch of his own stomach and his barrel-like chest, felt what perhaps could best be described as a dysmorphic bond of sorts. 

The man drove slow and calculatingly stole a glance at Barlow's black eye.

"You 'ave yourself a barny or sumfin, lad?"

"Yeah." Barlow played it cool and took another drag. "I had it on with this bloke from school."

Giles sniggered raspily. 

"Come off it then! I know it was a bird that did you like that! My bird in particular. Let's see that shine, aye." 

Barlow looked the other way, fuming underneath his cool exterior.

"No, that's not what happened. She hit me and I wasn't even looking!" Barlow felt his fists getting sweaty again. "Besides, you weren't even there. What do you know?" 

"You just told me everything I 'ave to know for it, lad." He coughed and spat out the car window.

"Now tell Giles. Wot is it you 'ave with this knob, Randolph?"

"Randolph?" Barlow spit out the window as well. "You mean Rodney?  Handy Randy? He's always been a tosser." He crossed his arms. "Just thinks he's so smart. Like he's better than everyone else. Doesn't have to work for anything at all. Just shows up and gets everything handed to him."

Giles nodded and picked at his lips. 

"Aye. That's grief. It's 'orrible, lad, it truly is. Real, honest blokes like me and yours truly don't get it easy in life. We ain't always 'ad it so cushy like them other ones. Wot's your misters and mistresses got to say about it then?" Giles sniggered again. "Your teachers." 

"They put me in the front and make me work harder. They're harder on me, I swear it. Give me more assignments to do at home. It's not fair." Barlow flicked his cigarette. "Plus his mum is a copper." 

"Do what?" Giles asked, throwing a crooked smile his way. 

"...She's a copper. A cop, you know, a policewoman." 

"That makes sense..." he said after a pause, and then was quiet. 

What a strange person, Barlow thought. 

"Where did you say you were from again?" Barlow asked, looking out the window and trying to hide his suspicion. 

"I didn't." 

Barlow heard Gile's tone change drastically. 

"I didn't say where I was from." He had a murderous glint in his eyes. "Why?"

Barlow felt his body go quite cold and his stomach dropped.

"No, nothing. Nevermind then." He felt for the outline of his phone in his trousers.

Giles patted his long legs and smiled crookedly at Barlow again, his expression softening. 

"Let's just say that where ol' Giles is from, is a place that is chock-full of knobs like Rodney. Mangy folk who fink they're the dog's bollocks. Always tellin' ya what you can do and what you can't. They fink they can change the wevver, ain't they? Always a King or a Queen or a bit of a Jack the Lad to run your life. World's full of them folk." 

A stop sign yielded the space between Thicket Lane and the cell site and when Giles saw it, he sped up. Barlow could see a police car parked at the entrance to the site,

"Hey! That's a stop sign! What are you doing?" Barlow yelled, bracing his arms against the dashboard. "Are you mental?" 

Giles smiled at Barlow. 

"We 'ave to show these tossers they're not the chief. Not to us. We make the rules for our own reality," he said while laughing.

Barlow ducked his head down, hearing Gile's sniggering and then looked in the rearview. No one following them. 

His heart was pounding inside his chest and he felt a bit nauseous. But that could just as easy be the cigarette smoke. Barlow felt exhilarated. And for the first time, not horribly bored with everything.  

"Pop up then, sparra! Wot are you doing? We're nearly there." 

"You're crazy, you are!"

Giles was still laughing. 

"My boss 'd do good to 'ave a gander at you, lad. E'd like you, 'e would. Now, is it right or left comin' up?" 

Barlow still felt his heart beating fast against the dirty panels of the car and even in the darkness, he knew where they were. 

"It's a right up ahead. That's where the Edinburgh flats are." 

Pulling into the carpark, Barlow saw a large tree felled near the outcrop of a forest and for some reason, his favorite song popped into his head.

He got out of the car and waited while he heard Giles pop open the glovebox for something and then stashed it in his pocket. When he came out, the tall man scanned the flats on the first level with beady eyes. 

"I don't know which one it is. But I know he lives here with his bitch mum," Rodney said scanning the environment himself, like he was an MI-5 agent. 

"That's fine as is. Finding the folk I'm 'aving a go at should be a right doddy. They're not quiet people." Barlow saw Giles stick his hand in his pocket and keep it there. "Alright, you gaffer, let's go."

Barlow followed Giles around to the back of the complex, where they jumped a gate and were afforded a window's view inside each and every flat on the ground level. Barlow could hardly believe what he was doing, but he loved the secrecy of it all. 

A commotion from inside of the flats caused Giles to crouch suddenly and he turned silently to instruct Barlow to do the same. Coming up to the flat, they heard more shouting and a slamming of a door, and then quiet conversation. 

The two lay crouching beneath the windowsill, and Barlow tried to edge himself away from Giles, smelling his rank breath. Giles grabbed him harshly and gave him a severe look. That murderous shine was back in his eyes. Not saying a word, he pulled a small snub-nosed revolver out of his pocket and handed it to Barlow.

Barlow took it without saying a word and the steel felt cool against his hot hands. He steadied it even as his body shook, and held it loosely against his palm.

A tea kettle rang out and Giles chose that moment. 

The bullet broke into the kitchen like an earthquake, shattering glass every which way.