Читать книгу Once A Pilgrim - James Deegan - Страница 27

15.

NOT LONG AFTER six-thirty, Billy Jones Jnr handed over to the evening manager at Robinson’s, ran him through the stocktake and the till, and managed to have a few minutes in the back office with Colleen before he said goodbye.

Eventually, he walked her back to the bar, pulling on his adidas jacket, and put his foot on the brass rail.

‘It’s gonna get messy tonight,’ he said, raising his voice over the hubbub.

The place was already buzzing with several raucous Christmas office parties.

Girls with Santa hats on their heads, knocking back Malibu and Coke.

Lads with pints in hands and wandering eyes.

Wham! on the speakers.

Last Christmas.

A heart, given to someone special.

‘Shall I pick yous up at midnight, darlin’?’ he said.

‘Aye,’ said Colleen, with a cheeky grin and a twinkle in her eye. ‘Don’t be late, ’cos I have something for you.’

He blushed – stop blushing you eejit – and said, ‘Really?’

‘Uh huh,’ she said. ‘And I think you’ll like it.’

‘I’ll not be late then,’ he said, with a big smile.

A man appeared at his elbow waving a tenner, so Colleen broke off.

Billy zipped up his jacket and walked out of the pub, the smile still plastered across his face.

She was a rare one, alright. He couldn’t wait for midnight.

Five minutes later, hands thrust into his pockets against the cold, he reached the car park.

Jangling his keys.

He shivered. He knew the car would be bitterly cold inside – the heater was crap, the seats were plastic. Probably have to scrape the ice off first.

Still, only ten minutes and he’d be home and in front of the gas fire for his beans on toast or fish fingers and chips, or whatever his ma had in mind. Then he’d…

He became dimly aware of footsteps behind him, light and quick, and then – before he could turn to look – two things happened simultaneously.

There was a thump in his back – it felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer – and a deafening sound.

He knew right enough that it was gunfire – you didn’t spend twenty years in Belfast without recognising that sound – but he was confused because it sounded so close.

Shots always rang out somewhere over there, half a mile away. Not right next to you.

Didn’t they?

He realised that he was being pushed forwards, and then it happened again – the thump, the noise – and he staggered, felt the strength go from his legs.

There was pain too, now – real pain in his back, searing heat and stabbing sensations – and he couldn’t breathe, like he’d been badly winded.

He collapsed onto his knees.

Tried to stand up but couldn’t.

His head was spinning.

He fell forwards.

Somehow, he realised, he was now flat on the ground, his face pressed against the cold, wet tarmac.

Confusing.

What’s… How…?

The last thing that Billy Jones Jnr felt was something hot being pressed into the soft flesh behind his left ear.

Then nothing.