Heartland, p.4
Heartland, page 4
–A double, he cried, a double brandy for every man-jack right now in this place …
It really had been a beautiful moment, all those many many long years ago now.
There simply couldn’t be any doubt about it.
And a long way, for sure, from the black and miserable evening of the funeral they’d just attended – as a consequence of which they now all found themselves literally struck dumb and on edge.
Why wouldn’t they be, when the truth was that they were heartbroken?
And left feeling abandoned.
But – all the same, Sonny Hackett had suddenly stood up and snapped abruptly that there was no reason for Red to keep on making that fucking grinding noise with his teeth.
–How many times have I told you to stop it? he spat again.
No one said anything.
Through the window leading to the foyer you could see the elaborate, ornate fountain – some kind of marble goddess imported from Italy, surrounded by plants.
At the start, Sonny remembered, they had all been embarrassed, just by the fact of her being naked.
But, after a while, nobody had minded.
Because Mr Monroe liked that kind of thing. And whatever was good enough for him, well then that suited every else just fine. Because WW knew what was good, if not better, than any know-all from the city.
Red Campbell sounded like he was choking.
–That dumb fucking statue, they heard him curse, rising up to his full height in the chair, I’m going to break it so I am. I’ll bust it!
Still nobody said anything.
–I’ll break it into a thousand pieces so I will – you see if I don’t! he wailed.
Working himself into such a state that Wee Hughie Munley was obliged to go across and restrain him.
–Easy now, Red, Wee Hughie urged, easy now friend. It’s gonna be OK. We’ll always have our Heartland memories, whatever else happens, WW will always be there. In here where it matters …
–And where’s that? spat Red Campbell. Where the fuck is that, may I ask? Where is it?
–In our hearts, explained Wee Hughie, in here like I say.
As he watched Red Campbell rest his forehead on the table before releasing a mournful and protracted howl.
And it wouldn’t have been very long after that that they decided to go on the hunt for me and Jody.
Which didn’t take them very long.
For there he was – yes, that old amigo – hopping from foot to foot beneath the sycamore as he scanned the road up ahead, looking for me.
Before Big Barney Grue crept up behind him and knocked him senseless with a single blow of the heavy metal wheelbrace.
Chapter 4
Snow In July
Jody Kane, in his heydey, had been the county bareknuckle champion.
–And look at him now, hissed Red Campbell, moving from the table over towards the fire. Well hell yeah, just look at the big-time slugger now, he spat again fiercely, as I watched from the rafters.
Wee Hughie Munley cracked his knuckles and showed his prominent teeth, talking trip-hammer fast as his little round head began nodding furiously.
–That’s the thanks Mr Monroe received, he complained, the kind of gratitude he was shown by the people he looked after – the people who’d have been nothing without him.
–It was the biggest funeral ever in Glasson County. The largest, I think, I’ve ever seen, Big Barney observed regretfully, lowering his eyes.
–There’ll be nobody missed more than Mr Monroe hereabouts, said Sonny, for as long as we live there’ll never ever be another WW.
–Never, agreed Red.
–I loved him, said Sonny.
–We all did, said Red.
–When I get my hands on that snake Wade, I’m going to do it, and do it fucking bad – stiff him, vowed Barney, eyes blazing wilder than ever.
–You want to know the truth? began Sonny Hackett as he flicked back his forelock, well then here it is. From the start I can’t say I ever liked him – never took to Ringo Wade.
–Neither did I, said Red Campbell, couldn’t stand the sight of him, to tell you the God’s honest truth.
–I’m going to do it, and don’t think I won’t, Big Barney repeated, and the reason that I’m going to is because – right from the start, from the very first days when he was a kid in those stables, I’d always had him figured for being a lowbelly fuck.
–King Slimeball Snake, Red Campbell growled, that’s what he is. Ray Wade the Diamondback King.
–That’s right, agreed Barney, seeming somewhat dazed, that’s right. I agree.
Then, looking like it took all he had to contain the abundance of repressed fury inside of him, Big Barney heaved and sat down, with his chin sinking deep into the enormous rampart of his chest.
–With them shifty eyes of his, continued Red, and that smile of his that’d make you throw up – I hate it. I’m going to waste him. Sure, stiff the sumbitch right where he stands – even though I know in truth he ain’t worth the shot.
–Because one thing, interrupted Sonny, one thing that you never ought to do is turn around and bite the hand that feeds you. Let your own people down – it’s a crime. Especially not them as has gone out of their way to show you assistance. Right Barney?
–Correct and right, agreed Big Barney Grue, one hundred per cent for sure, no question. Right there, Hughie?
Wee Hughie raised an approving thumb.
–Because, he agreed, because that is one thing you just ought not ever to do – big-time transgression in my book, Barney.
–In anybody’s book, Sonny Hackett seethed.
Nobody said anything for a long time after that. Before Red Campbell smiled and, with a distant look in his eye, observed softly:
–Do any of youse remember the night I won the Dance-Off Competition?
Before anyone could respond, they heard him continue:
–I was only just thinking about it the other night – when me and the missus won the big dancing prize. Did youse know this as well? That that was the night I finally picked up the courage to ask her to marry me. O man. What a night. She’d gone to the trouble of getting a costume run up for me real special. She said I looked like Elvis in it – she really did, I’m not kidding. Maybe youse remember. It was a kind of red little bolero jacket. Even yet I can’t believe she talked me into wearing it. But the thing is, we won. We won the competition, fellers – the Heartland Trophy. Me and the Kid. Bingo. Hola!
As everyone nodded, before privately returning to the magical, never-to-be-repeated events of that avowedly unforgettable night.
When Mr Monroe himself, as a matter of fact, had arrived up onstage for the purpose of presenting Red Campbell with that very award.
Just the slightest remembrance had the effect of making Red Campbell impossibly bitter.
–I still can’t believe that the two of them could be so dumb, he spat, to jack over the one man who had ever shown them kindess. But they did it. They did it all right.
Big Barney got up and struck his chair a vicious blow.
–Don’t worry, folks – we don’t got to worry about that. For Tony Begley is the man who will soon sort it. Yep, Tony will skin that snake for sure, and skin him but good.
Soon as I heard that, the perspiration came lashing off me like cold, bitter, stinging rain – as the McHale twins started an argument about America.
–California isn’t anywhere near Idaho. You’re a doofus, that’s what you are, our fellow. You’re making a dick of yourself, coming out with the like of that. Do you hear me, our boy – so for once in your life maybe try shutting your mouth and giving your arse a chance.
Talking about America, I suppose on account of Jody’s letters, I almost feel like I know it inside out. Even though I’ve never been there.
To be understood by such great people, he wrote, why it’s almost as if I’ve reached what we used to call our ‘promised land’, Ray.
That was how he had here described it, in the letter I have in front of me. And it made me simultaneously sorrowful and sad. Just thinking about the way that he used to speak those very words – standing there, staring, looking out across the fields.
Or maybe the two of us would be standing on the top floor of that grim fastness, looking out the window of that grey, forbidding Victorian building.
Now, however, with my whole body still stinging, I hadn’t so much as the strength to blink my eyes.
Beneath the flyblown Venetian blind hung a lopsided sign for Coors.
On the back of the door, a peeling decal for Gold Flake Satisfy.
As the little boy clutched his little teddy on the wall, with that same silver tear forever frozen in his eye.
Out across the valley, the tall stately pines rose up to meet the sky.
–Talk of snow, said Hughie Munley suddenly, forsaking his post by the window before returning to the table.
And breaking the seal on a pack of cards.
–Snow in July, murmured Red Campbell, to no particular individual that I could see.
As Sonny Hackett fixed him with an unflinching dark stare. Before lifting an eyebrow and inquiring, matter-of-factly:
–That song that’s playing on the jukebox – does anyone know what it might happen to be called? Like it’s name or something …
Big Barney Grue lifted his head and stretched, with a yawn.
–Not me anyway, they heard him say.
–Nor me either, Red Campbell muttered.
Wee Hughie Munley said that no he didn’t either.
As Sonny Hackett heaved a lengthy sigh.
Before leaning forward and repeating the question.
–Look. That song that’s playing right now on the jukebox, would anyone present happen to know what it might be called? And maybe do me the courtesy of …
Nobody at all replied.
As Sonny frowned, gnawing his underlip.
–Merle Haggard – maybe that’s who it is, he suggested drily.
–Nope, demurred Hughie, no it isn’t. Merle Haggard, I mean, Sonny.
Red Campbell flung his chair back and began laughing loudly.
–What I would like to know – yes, what I would like to know, Sonny Hackett – is how in the name of cursagod Christ it could be Merle Haggard, when he never recorded no record by that name …
–By what name? replied Sonny. What name you referring to here?
Red Campbell was patiently picking his teeth.
–‘Snow in July’, he replied with a smile, you would be a long time going through his songs, I reckon, before you came on one called that.
–You’re an authority, then – is that what you’re saying? That Red Campbell knows it all about Merle Haggard? That Red Campbell runs the Country Music Authority. Is that what you’re saying? Because if it is, I think it’s pretty funny.
Red Campbell sighed and ran his tobacco-stained fingers slowly through his moistened curls without once taking his eyes off Sonny.
–It wasn’t my intention to suggest that I was an authority on anything, he went on, and to tell you the God’s honest truth, Sonny Hackett sir, I ain’t got the faintest idea how you might have gotten that into your head.
–You don’t, huh?
–I don’t, huh.
Sonny Hackett drummed rapidly on the table, clicking his heels.
–I see. Well. How about this?
–How about what? Red Campbell said.
–How about the Country Music Authority goes over and takes off that fucking thing that’s playing and shoves it – and put on one, maybe, say, by Charley Pride.
–Charley Pride?
–That’s what I said. But, seeing as you are such an esteemed authority on the subject I am gonna leave the selection down to you.
–That’s good, smiled Red, that is generous and mighty generous of you to do that, Mr Hackett sir. Except for the fact that it doesn’t make a great deal of difference to Red Campbell what it is you might decide to do regarding your choice of music or anything fucking else. Because right at this moment I intend to enjoy this sweet little shotta jungle juice I got me here. And which is why I ain’t got the slightest intention of getting myself up out of this chair for anybody. Not even you, Mr ‘Happy Days’ Hackett sir.
Sonny said that that had made him laugh.
–It amuses me, he sourly declared.
Before shoving the table back with a screech as he stood, bolt-upright, in front of the disinterested Red Campbell. Sweeping back his hair, before slamming his fist down hard on the table.
–I don’t want no ‘Snow in July’. You hearing me, Campbell? Because what I want is Charley – and it’s Charley Pride I’m going to fucking get! You listening to me, shit-for-brains? You listening to me? You listening to what I’m saying to you right here?
But Red Campbell remained implacable, making an elegantly dismissive little gesture with his fingers, as a furious rush of blood shot right to Sonny’s face.
–You know what, Red? You ain’t worth it, he decided.
Before sloping over to the Rock-Ola and dawdling there, with his hands tentatively hovering above the selection panel, intermittently delivering vitriolic glances in the direction of Red Campbell.
With the latter returning them, tenfold – clearly having resolved not to speak a word.
Chapter 5
Uncle Wylie’s Wrecking Yard
I watched closely as The Runt, very slowly, began rising to his feet, with his pupils dilated as he took up position at the head of the table, looking huntedly all around him.
Before suddenly lurching forward and heaving violently, but nothing came up.
Beside him, his brother made sympathetic noises.
–You know, began The Runt, his freckled podgy face obscured by a dangling quiff, I didn’t really want to say this. But the truth is, and I hope our Shorty doesn’t hate me for saying it – but, if I had the choice, I’d rather not be here at all. To be honest, the way that I’m feeling right this minute I just wish that the whole thing was over. So that me and bro here could just walk out that door – yes, turn around and get a plane to America.
His brother now seemed equally agitated – stopping and starting as he circled the pool table.
–That’s right, he snapped sharply, agitatedly upending the cue, once and for all get away from here and forget that any of this has happened. Because if you want to know the truth, I hate Glasson County. I know it’s what my father might have given his life for and all, but it isn’t any good for the likes of you and me, is it bro?
–Zackly, stammered The Runt, wiping his mouth, now you are talking a bunch of real good sense, our boy …
Both McHales were apprentice mechanics, until recently employed by WW, working out at Kentuckyland. We all knew that they’d been happy there – but now that the banks and the money men had taken over, what was left? Where would they go?
That was the question on everyone’s lips.
–Where can he be? What’s keeping Begley? Where can he have got to? The Runt snapped sharply all of a sudden. Oh Jesus, I don’t feel so good …
–It’s OK, Runty, he’ll come – don’t worry, Shorty reassured him. Sooner or later Tony Begley will walk in. That door will open and he’ll come strolling in.
He sparked two smokes and handed one to his brother.
–Ker-plunk! went the balls and:
–Clink clink clink.
As another minute went by on the clock.
Red Campbell had lifted his boots onto the table, his fingers beating time on his flat stomach along with the music.
Smiling over at Big Barney, as his lumbering colleague grinned right back.
–So how have you been this past while, big feller? What ’n hell you been up to, you great big hunka beef. Ha ha!
Barney Grue parted his legs and began to rhythmically pat his thighs.
–Matter of fact, I’ve been doing real good, he replied, that is to say I got no complaints.
He laughed in that familiar, high-pitched, uncertain manner.
–That’s real good to hear, Big Barney, smiled Red Campbell, yes that is real damn good to know.
Then he turned his attention to the barman.
Who, as always, was just standing there, lithe and silent behind the counter, gazing off.
At something so very far away, it seemed.
–And you there, Mr Walker, Red continued, would you say that’s also the case with you? That you’re doing good, I mean to say?
The barman relaxed as he smiled from ear to ear, spreading his hands in that predictable, avuncular fashion.
He seemed so happy as he blithely responded:
–Not only that, Red old friend, indeed as a matter of fact, I would have to say that I’m doing real good. Yes – I would definitely say that. Yep. For sure.
Red Campbell looked down and thought for a second or two, turning over a couple of crumbs of sawdust and then looked up with the sunniest of sunny grins, which was directed, or so it seemed, almost exclusively towards Sonny Hackett.
Who was still preoccupied, examining the cards spread out in front of him.
The history of tension between the two men was well known. It had always been there, going right back to their time in the factory.
You could tell Sonny Hackett didn’t take to being scrutinised.
Any more than he liked the noise that Red was making with his teeth.
And, being uncomfortable enough already among those crossbeams, I wasn’t taking very much to it myself.
You could tell by Sonny’s expression, which he didn’t do much to conceal, that, more than anything, what he wanted to do was cry:
–Cut it out, will you? Stop making that fucking sound.
But decided, in the end, against it.
As Red, with an extended toe, fashioned another zigzag shape in the sawdust.
–You been watching the games? he inquired out of the blue, staring right at Hackett.
Sonny bridled.
–What’re you talking about, Campbell – games? Watching what games?
–You know, just the sports. You been watching them much, in recent times?
Sonny Hackett leaned across the table, resting his long unshaven jaw on his palm, as he gazed unflinchingly into Red Campbell’s drawn face.
