Friday 09 July 2005
He was out there again - the small man with the short hair and the loud shirts and the "don't fuck with me" attitude. Charlie had seen him around a couple of times recently and thought he looked interesting, as well as very attractive. He'd even tried to catch his eye once or twice, to see if he'd like to have a chat or a beer (or maybe something a little more intimate, if he turned out to be that way inclined), but the man had always seemed to disappear, though Charlie swore he'd seen him talking - or rather, arguing - with Liam the previous week.
Tonight, he was standing towards the back of the pub, the hard expression on his face augmented by the two men standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder. Charlie glanced over that way once or twice - well, maybe a few times - and wondered what he wanted, what he'd planned, and why he needed the henchmen, if that's what they were. It's what they looked like.
Liam was concentrating on his guitar and his singing, rarely looking beyond the small space that passed for a dance floor in this pub, not even at the really pretty blonde who was sitting with some friends a couple of tables in front of the small man. That was distinctly unusual - Liam always checked out the pretty girls. Charlie wondered again what the small man wanted, and why Liam was trying to avoid him.
They finished the set without much hassle, and their few fans - or groupies, in Liam's case - clustered around them as they started to pack up. Charlie had relaxed when the small man had disappeared at the end of the set, so he was caught by surprise when the one of the henchmen - the dark-haired one - appeared at Liam's shoulder.
Liam gave a smile and a shrug and kissed each of the pretty girls on the cheek. "Gotta see a man about some business," he quipped, as he followed the man behind the bar and into the office area, but Charlie thought the laugh had sounded a little forced. He quickly asked Patrick to finish packing his gear, and followed Liam into the office area.
He knew there was something wrong the moment he walked through the door. There were three men standing in the office: the small man he had spotted before was standing in the centre of the room, looking very sharp in a dark suit, bright red shirt and gold necklace; and his two very large friends in rumpled suits and bruised knuckles. Liam was sitting on a small wooden chair and looked distinctly uncomfortable, his skin pale and slightly green in the harsh fluorescent light.
One of the henchmen - who could be distinguished from his colleague only by his violently red hair - grabbed Charlie by the arm and tried to hustle him out of the room, but stopped when the small man spoke.
"It's the brother. Let him stay. But get out there and don't let anyone else in." The voice sounded odd to Charlie - was it Irish or Scottish?
Red nodded and left the room, drawing the door closed behind him. The blond henchman placed a second chair beside Liam's, and gestured for Charlie to sit down. He hesitated, though - he wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew it wasn't going to be good.
The small man was speaking to Liam. "Mr Pace, you've been avoiding me, and I don't like that. I don't like that at all. So I thought I'd arrange this quiet little chat, get everything sorted out. You want everything to be sorted out, don't you?"
The voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the menace it held. Charlie could hear now that it was a Glasgow accent, but that wasn't exactly reassuring. Glasgow toughs were just as bad as Manc toughs, and possibly even more vicious.
Liam nodded. Charlie wasn't quite so ready to agree. "Who are you? What do you want?" he asked, glad that he sounded more annoyed than scared.
The small man looked at him with a gaze that could have frozen helium, and said, "You don't get to ask the questions here, lad. Sit down and shut up." He gestured to the chair.
Charlie thought for a moment about protesting, but the small man's manner, and Liam's uncharacteristic quiet, made him bite back the words. With a resentful look, he sat down on the chair next to Liam. The blond henchman moved to stand behind them, and the small man leaned back against the desk, fixing Liam with his eye.
"Now, Mr Pace, in case you need me to refresh your memory, there's the little matter of the money you owe me. I expected, after last week, that you'd be anxious to pay me and avoid all this... unpleasantness. But here you are, another week behind. You disappoint me, really you do."
Liam gulped. "I don't have it.
"What about tonight's take?
"We haven't been paid yet."
The small man sighed, and walked over to the door, where he had a muffled conversation with the redhead, who promptly left to find the pub owner.
"While Ken's getting your night's wages, I'll check your wallets."
"Hey!" Charlie remonstrated, but the blond behind him pulled him up by the hair with one hand and fished the wallet out of his back pocket with the other. Charlie subsided, rubbing his head and muttering obscenities under his breath. Liam, by contrast, merely took his wallet out and handed it straight to the small man, who extracted the notes and counted them.
"20 pounds."
He looked over their heads at the blond henchman, who showed him the pitiful handful of coins that was all that Charlie's wallet had contained.
"Is that all you have?"
Charlie felt embarrassed at having so little, and, as usual, became aggressive to cover it. "Look, I'm on the dole, OK? Forty pounds a week doesn't go very far."
"Not exactly 'Lifestyles of the rich and famous', is it? The man shook his head in disgust. "Oh, let him keep it, " he told Chris, who returned the coins to the wallet and handed it back to Charlie, who snatched it with a scowl and put it back in his pocket.
Ken returned in a couple of minutes with a slim wad of notes, which he handed to the blond. The blond handed it solemnly to the small man and returned to his vigil behind the chairs.
"300 pounds. Well, it's a start, but even with what you've just contributed, it's not enough. You know that, Mr Pace, I told you last time."
"That really is all I have. And half of that band money isn't mine."
The small man took out a notebook from his jacket pocket, and made a careful notation. He tucked the money into the notebook and put it back in his pocket. "Now, according to my calculations, you owe me three thousand, four hundred and twenty pounds, and I'm beginning to doubt that you'll be able to pay me."
"Three thousand pounds?" Charlie shouted in indignation.
"That's the miracle of compound interest, lad." The loan shark cast him a glacial look.
"It's usury!" Charlie started up but was pushed back down onto the chair by the henchman.
"I'm sure your t-teachers would be very happy to know you paid attention in Sunday School. Now shut the f-fuck up." He turned back to Liam. "Now, Mr Pace, how am I going to get my money?. Any ideas?"
Liam didn't say anything.
"I think Mr Pace needs a little encouragement, Chris." He nodded to the henchman, who leaned forward and gripped Liam's arm. With his other hand he started to bend the ring finger back, until Liam's face was contorted in pain and his body writhed, trying to relieve the pressure.
"Getting any inspiration, Mr Pace?"
"Fuck you! Argh!" His finger was bent back at almost ninety degrees, and Charlie was dreading the sound of snapping bones.
"Think you're tough , do you?" The Shark lifted a finger and Chris relaxed the pressure slightly. Liam almost sobbed in relief. The Shark leaned forward and, with his index finger, slowly wiped away a bit of the thick eyeliner that Liam had applied that evening. "Pretty make-up, Mr Pace." He rubbed the kohl between finger and thumb, before taking a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his hands fastidiously. He returned the handkerchief to his pocket before he spoke again. "You one of those gender-benders, are you? Swing both ways? Lots of them in the music industry, I hear. Such a pretty mouth, too. Perhaps you'd prefer to pay in kind?" The grin that accompanied these words was feral and entirely humourless.
Liam blenched and couldn't keep the revulsion from his voice as he spat "No!"
Chris bent his fingers back further, until Liam was almost crying in pain. "Please!" he choked.
"I need ideas, Mr Pace, not pleadings."
"There isn't anything else!"
"Two fingers, Chris." The henchman applied more pressure and Liam screamed.
Charlie couldn't bear it any longer. "No! Please don't! I'll - I'll go down on you."
There was a deathly silence in the room, through which the low hum of voices from the pub was heard. Charlie swallowed. He couldn't believe what he had just said.
The Shark looked as shocked as Charlie. He blinked, then asked, "What did you say, boy?"
Charlie swallowed again. Was he imagining it, or was there a hungry look in the man's eyes? "You - you said he could pay in kind. That's what you meant, isn't it?"
The Shark gestured to the henchman, who relaxed his grip on Liam's hand but didn't let go, and took a step closer to Charlie. "I might have," he said, frowning.
He looked Charlie up and down, and Charlie could feel himself blushing - blushing! - as if he were still a virginal fifteen - under the oddly-intense scrutiny. He felt two fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up. To his astonishment, he realised that the Shark's eyes were a clear jade green, absolutely beautiful, in a cold, hard, extremely dangerous sort of way. It gave him a rather odd feeling between his shoulder blades.
The Shark ran a thumb over Charlie's lips and smiled as they parted automatically. "Well, lad. Are you offering?" he asked, almost disinterestedly.
Charlie swallowed. He felt sick. "Only - only if you promise not to hurt him."
"I don’t make that sort of promise." He considered it for a few seconds longer, then murmured, "Why not?" He looked over at Chris, who remained impassive at the sudden change in his boss's mood, and jerked his head towards Liam. "Take him outside. Keep him quiet. I'll be..." - he looked down at Charlie - "I'll be ten minutes." He dropped his hand but otherwise remained motionless in front of Charlie until the henchman had hauled Liam, protesting, out of the room.
"Well, boy?"
Charlie looked up. The Shark was unbuckling his belt.
"Get on your knees, then. Show me something worth a hundred pounds."
Charlie slid off the chair onto his knees and shuffled the half-step forward until he was directly in front of the mans' crotch. The man had undone the waist button but nothing more. Charlie hesitated a couple of seconds, then glanced up. The man's face was closed, unrevealing.
"Get on with it. I haven't got all night."
Charlie reached up and pulled down the zipper, spreading the fly open to reveal black silk boxer shorts. He drew down the elastic waistband and lifted out the man's cock, which stirred and started to harden at his touch. It smelled clean, at least, with a hint of citrus and spice in whatever soap or aftershave he used. Charlie ran his hands over and around the growing erection, not sure how to begin.
You can do this, he told himself. You've been down on plenty of guys before, it's just the same. Just the same.
"Hurry up, lad, I haven't got all night."
Charlie nodded, and brought the now-hard prick up to his lips. He extended his tongue and licked the tip, noting how the man jerked in response. He swirled around the head a few times then opened his mouth and took it in. It was a good size - not the thickest he'd ever seen, nor the longest, but more than he'd expected from the short man. He moved back and forth, slowly, taking in more and more of the length each time, until he felt the head slide into his throat, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to Richard Jameson, who had spent several weeks in his first year at uni teaching him how to deep-throat.
Oh, Richard, I wish you hadn't left, he thought. I wish this was you.
He closed his eyes. He'd gone down on strangers before - in clubs, at parties - but only the ones he fancied. He'd just have to pretend that he fancied this guy. He could do that for once. Just this once.
He licked his way from base to crown, letting his tongue slide around the head, flicking the sensitive spot just... there, taking the whole length in again, reaching in with one hand to caress the man's balls, working his throat around the head, letting his teeth make brief contact with the skin as he withdrew again, then plunging down and sucking hard. Tonguing, swallowing, humming... every trick he knew, everything he could think of, he used on this stranger.
It seemed to take forever, and his knees were hurting, but finally, he felt the Shark start to shudder and he tensed as the man ejaculated into his mouth. He swallowed the bittersweet substance convulsively, anxious to be rid of its taste, but held the man's dick in his mouth until he had finished. Then he drew back and let the now-limp shaft fall away from his lips. He glanced up at the Shark, who was standing with his head tilted back and eyes closed. With no instructions to the contrary, he replaced the man's cock in his boxer shorts, zipped up the fly and buckled the belt. Only then did he rock back on his heels and look up again.
This time the man was staring down at him, his expression still inscrutable. Charlie thought of standing up, but didn't like to do so without permission, so he waited for the verdict.
The man nodded, and said. "Not bad. Acceptable." He gestured to the chair, and Charlie felt a sense of relief wash over him as he scrambled up. Liam's fingers wouldn't be broken. They'd still be able to play and get the money for the next payment. He wouldn't have to explain to his Mum and Dad just how completely fucked-up their life had become.
The Shark strolled over to the door and left without another word.
A minute later Liam was back, incredulous and gabbling. "You did it. I don't believe you did it." He laughed and tried to hug his brother, but Charlie slapped his hand away in irritation, and gave him a shove for good measure.
"No thanks to you, you stupid cunting arsehole. I just had a complete stranger's dick in my mouth because you fucked up. You fucked up. Who the fuck was that, anyway?"
"Look, it was for the band-"
"Who was he, Liam? I'm guessing he's not a DriveShaft fan."
"Charlie - "
"Don't you fucking Charlie me. Who was he? And how did you end up owing him so much money?"
Liam rubbed his finger, trying to ease the aching tendons. "His name's Rory McManus. They call him The Shark. He's a debt collector, moneylender. He's... he's known for being a bit... umm... enthusiastic about his work."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Yeah, well... I missed a couple of payments at the music store."
"How come? It wasn't that much money. You said we were paying it off easy."
"Yeah, well, that was before the Treble, wasn't it."
"What?"
"The Treble. You know, Manchester United."
"I know what the fucking Treble, is I just don't see what it's got to do with the music store. Or our amps."
"Well..." Liam hesitated. "You know how Bob Johnson's such a rabid Man U fan."
"Yeah, so what? There are a few of us around."
"Well... I bet him double or nothing."
"What?!"
"I bet double or nothing against Man U."
It took a few seconds for the words to sink into the Charlie's brain, and even longer for the meaning to register. Then the shock - the staggering, overwhelming, incomprehensible shock - was replaced by a surge of anger so primal that he literally felt it wash over him. He had to let it out somehow, and shoved Liam so hard he staggered backwards. "You fucking idiot! You stupid bollocking shit-for-brains cunting prick! How the fuck could you even imagine they wouldn't win?"
"Fuck off! It wasn't a foregone conclusion."
"Yes, it fucking was!"
"Jesus, Charlie, calm down a minute. Not everyone lives and breathes Man U. OK?"
"No I fucking well won't calm down! I just can't believe you're so stupid! You - you-" he broke off, too upset to continue.
"Charlie. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. We might have got the amps for next to nothing if it had gone the other way."
Charlie took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He was still incredulous that anyone could have bet against his beloved team - it was simply unthinkable. They'd made history that night - winning the Premier League, the FA Cup and the European Cup, all in the space of eleven days. They couldn't not have won. It was fate, it was destiny, it was karma. He shook his head and tried to take in what Liam was saying now.
"Look, I thought it would be all right - I mean, we bought everything there, and Bob's always been pretty cool with the payments. He knew we'd pay him, eventually."
Charlie frowned as something tickled his memory... "Hang on, though - he's retired."
"Yeah, he retired."
"And?"
"And the new owner didn't want outstanding debts... so he sold them all to McManus."
"He what?"
"He took all the debts, and McManus bought them."
"How can you buy a debt?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Charlie, didn't you watch any gangster films? McManus pays the store owner the amount he was owed, so the store owner's happy. Then McManus goes around all the people who owed money and tells them that they have to pay McManus now, not the store. Only the interest rate's a lot higher, and McManus does nasty things to people who don't pay up. So most people pay up really fast, and McManus is happy."
"And you didn't."
"I couldn't pay it all. You'd just lost your job, and the rent went up, and we had a few weeks without gigs. I paid what I could, but I couldn't pay off the principal. And then the weekly payments went up, and I couldn't pay all of that, not at the end of the month, and it just kept getting bigger and bigger..." his voice trailed off.
"Fucking hell."
They were silent for a few minutes. Charlie started pacing around the small room. "So what do we do now?"
Liam shrugged. "Look, it's just a setback. We've got more gigs coming up, and you're still looking for a job. We'll get back on top of things soon, then we'll be right."
"Oh, Christ, Liam, it's not going to work out like that." He kicked at legs of the desk. "We'll have to tell the others. Club together, see what we can sell off to raise the money."
Liam shook his head. "We can't tell them What's the point, anyway? They haven't got anything worth selling except the band's gear, you know that. And I'm the only one with a job at the moment."
"Could we ask Dad to lend us the money?"
"What? Mister Neither-a-borrower-nor-a-lender-be?" Liam shook his head. "He wouldn't do it - not for the band. He'd look at us and tell us that we've learned a valuable lesson, and give us the money, and then he'd take every bit of gear we've got. He'd bail us out and kill DriveShaft in one go. And he'd bring it up every time we go home for the next twenty years."
Charlie nodded, morosely. He loved his Dad, he really did, but the elder Mr Pace had a mania about debt that dated back to the seventies, when interest rates were 18 percent and even wealthy people had trouble with mortgages. He'd never allow them to go into debt if they had assets to sell.
Liam thumped the wall. "I won't let him do that. I've spent years on this band, Charlie. I'm not going to let it go just like that."
"We have to tell the others though.
"No." Liam was adamant. "I'll think of something."
"Christ, I need a drink," Charlie muttered, but there was no way he could afford one. And he could hardly ask Liam now, which made him feel even worse. He kicked at the leg of the desk until it started to shudder. "Oh, well, I guess there's nothing much we can do tonight. I'll go back and finish packing up."
Liam nodded. "Anyway, we'll be right for a couple of weeks. Gig tomorrow, gig Wednesday - we'll have plenty for next week."
"And what about the week after that?"
Liam shrugged. "Something will turn up. Always does." He couldn't resist giving Charlie a teasing smile. "Maybe McManus'll take a liking to you and -"
"No fucking way!" Charlie grabbed a handful of Liam's shirt and pinned him against the wall. "You'd better have the money next week, Liam. I don't care where you get it from. Just don't expect me to do that again, 'cause I won't. D'you hear? Not ever." He shoved his brother away and headed for the door.
"It wasn't that bad, was it? Not like you hadn't done it before, is it? I never thought it would be useful, having a faggot for a little brother. Piece of luck. I reckon."
"Bloody hell, Liam, that's not the point!"
"Well, what is the point?"
"The point is that I just - I just prostituted myself to save your fingers from being broken, and you treat it like a joke!"
"Hey, Charlie, I'm grateful, I really am." Liam held up his hands. "I and all my fingers thank you." But he couldn't keep the smirk off his face, and Charlie turned away, disgusted.
"Yeah, well, I'm going to get my gear." He strode out of the door and down the narrow corridor to the public bar.
Thursday 15 July
"...Four-fifty, five, five-fifty, six hundred. Well done, Mr Pace."
"I suppose it'd be asking too much to get a receipt?"
"You suppose right. Don't worry, though, it'll all be noted down correctly. We keep very good accounts here.
"Yeah, I'm sure you do."
"Same time next week, Mr Pace."
"Whatever."
Thursday 22 July
"You got the money, Liam?"
"Yeah, I've got it. I'll drop it in at lunchtime."
"Don’t forget."
"Don't worry, little brother. Your arse is safe."
"Don't bloody joke about it, you cunt."
"Temper, temper. See you later."
"Yeah, right."
Friday 23 July
Charlie was glad to be home early for once. The gig hadn't been great, but the band had had a couple of drinks afterwards, and Patrick had given him a lift home (Liam having disappeared with the usual pretty blonde), so it wasn't a total loss. Charlie was in quite a good mood as he propped the guitar against the wall and unlocked the door of the flat. He didn't have much planned for the weekend - a nice lie-in (though it wasn't quite as much of a treat now that he didn't have much to do except lie-in), a bit of peace and quiet, maybe a chance to work on that scrap of melody that kept running through his head...
He had no idea that anything was amiss until he saw the light on in the lounge, and even then his first thought was that Liam had changed his mind and come home early.
"Are you home already, Liam?" he called as he put the guitar case down. "What's the matter, did she turn out to be a dyke or something?"
There was no answer, and he stepped through into the lounge, only to see the Shark - Rory McManus - standing in front of the bricked-up fireplace. The blond man was beside him while the redhead appeared from behind the door, cutting off Charlie's escape.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Hey, watch it!" he expostulated, as the redhead (Ken, his name was Ken, Charlie recalled) manhandled him across to the sofa and threw him down.
"Hello, Charlie," said McManus, the voice menacingly calm. "Where's Liam?"
Charlie's stomach did a somersault. "I don't know. He left with someone after the gig."
"I'm sorry I missed it. I wanted to have a little chat." McManus' voice was gentle, but Charlie wasn't fooled. This was definitely not a social call.
"We have a little problem, Charlie. Liam owes me money."
"But he paid you yesterday!" Charlie almost jumped up in indignation, but McManus dealt him a harsh slap across the cheek, and he fell back into the chair, his eyes smarting.
"Don't fucking c-contradict me! Liam missed the p-payment yesterday. Out of the sheer goodness of my heart, I decided to give him an extra twenty-four hours, but he still hasn't paid. Where is he?"
"I don't know. But he had the money, I saw it! He left here yesterday morning and he was going to give it to you at lunchtime. That's what he told me, I swear!"
"But he didn't give it to me, Charlie, otherwise I w-wouldn't be here, now, would I?"
"But I asked him! I said, did he make the payment, and he said yeah, no problem. I don’t know what happened. Honestly, I don't."
The Shark reached over and took a handful of Charlie's hair, twisting it painfully. "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?"
"No, no. Wouldn't lie to you. Ouch! That hurts." He squirmed in the chair, trying to ease the pain, but McManus just pulled harder and Charlie found himself rising out of his seat.
"It'll hurt a lot more if I don't get my money." He gave a final, vicious twist that brought tears to Charlie's eyes, then let go and straightened up. "Search the place. Anything of value, bring it in here."
Charlie waited, feeling sick, while the two henchmen ransacked the small apartment. There was little of value to start with, and after ten minutes the small pathetic pile in front of the Shark comprised one battered TV, one CD player (Liam's), a few CDs (mostly pirated from friends), an old acoustic guitar (Charlie's), and a few silver rings (all Charlie's). Ken added Charlie's bass guitar to the pile, and Charlie started to protest, but subsided after another backhander, this time from Chris.
"This is all?" asked McManus, his voice showing mild disappointment. "Not very much, is it? Not n-nearly enough." He sighed. "Take it downstairs, put it in the back. The guitars might fetch something, at least." He looked back at Charlie, who was sitting with his fist pressed up against his mouth, trying desperately not to let the tears fall out of his eyes.
I'm going to die, he thought. They're going to beat me up and kill me, and my dismembered body will be found in the canal, or under the motorway, or at the bottom of a construction site. He found himself praying, and his hands twitched, as if he were holding a rosary. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...
"Tell your brother that this was his last chance. I'm not a fucking charity, d'you hear? That heap of junk will barely cover the week's payment, and I'm still owed the principal, ye ken? Three thousand six hundred pounds. I want that money, Charlie."
Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak. McManus came closer, one hand on his belt buckle, and Charlie almost whimpered. Oh God. I can't - I just can't go down on him again, I can't, I can't, I can't. He hoped he wasn't saying it out loud. The man raised his hand, and Charlie flinched, expecting another blow, but the man merely ran a finger over his reddened cheek, then down his jaw and neck in a parody of tenderness, making him shudder.
"By rights," said the man in a soft voice that Charlie found, to his dismay, perversely attractive, "by rights I should mark that pretty face of yours, let him see what happens to those he loves when he can't meet his obligations... but I think he’ll get the message. Make sure he does." He flicked Charlie's nose and smiled, and Charlie realised how he'd got his nickname. "If not, I'll find him, and I'll find you, and I'll make you pay. And if I can't find you, I'll find your mother and your sisters and your little brother, and make them pay instead. Someone will pay, do you understand? Someone always has to pay. Don’t you doubt that for one second."
With that he was gone.