Bad Blood by Mark Sennen Read Free Book Online Page A

though.’
    â€˜Look at it this way.’ Big K points to the pile of chips next to Lexi. ‘Tonight, you and me lost. Lexi’s taken me for a oner, you the same twice over. Tomorrow he’ll let us win it back because he knows if he doesn’t we’ll beat the shit out of him. But real life doesn’t work like that. The house never loses unless you’ve got an edge. Frankie is the edge.’
    â€˜Still don’t like him.’
    â€˜I’m not asking you to eat grapes from between his arse cheeks. All you’ve got to do is tolerate him.’
    â€˜Think you can do that, Ricky?’ Lexi again. Smiling. Big K as well. Like they are sharing the punchline to some joke you don’t understand.
    Lexi and Big K. Too close sometimes. All that talking and planning. Lexi in particular has a face with two sides. Trying to work him out is like trying to catch hold of a fart; for a moment there’s a stink but then comes a quick burst of air freshener and nobody is any the wiser.
    â€˜The amount of money Frankie has saved us,’ Big K says, starting to laugh, ‘he’s worth his weight.’
    â€˜Even if he is particular to kiddies?’
    â€˜It’s a fuck or be fucked world, Ricky. You told me that.’
    From the kitchen a clatter of pans brought Budgeon back to the present, the noise jarring through his head. He raised a hand and squeezed his temples to try and relieve the building pressure, then looked through the window where he could see the sun had been swallowed up by a mass of cloud which brooded on the horizon, far to the west.
    Frankie should have stayed in Plymouth and not come west last summer. Once he’d been given a tour of the area, shown the tourist hotspots, he’d been gagging for it. Let loose for a few hours, the pervert had been in little-girl heaven.
    â€˜
Urges, Ricky,’ Frankie said afterwards, eyes downcast, knowing he’d walked into a trap. ‘They’re prick-teasers. All of them. She was cute, so very cute. I couldn’t help myself.’
    So Frankie had helped himself.
    The pans clattered again and Budgeon closed his eyes. This time the noise caused white light to crackle across a grey background, and he balled his fists as needles of agony pierced his temples. He clenched his teeth and swallowed. He wanted to go into the kitchen and hit the woman. Slap her for being so clumsy. Instead he opened his eyes and lashed out with his arm, sweeping a vase of daffodils from a nearby table. The flowers fell in slow motion and then the vase exploded on the slate floor.
    A second later and the girl was at the door with the child on her hips. A hand went to her mouth, lips quivering, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. The kid smiled across, for a split second his expression reminding Budgeon of someone from his past. He creased his forehead, willed the kid to repeat the smile, tried to recall the face again but the moment was gone. Then the boy sensed the tension and began to cry.
    Budgeon nodded at the girl. Remembered to breathe. Said it was OK and then waved her away. He stepped from the window, crunched over the remains of the vase and eased himself down into the creaking leather of the big sofa. Tucked down behind a cushion he found his bottle of Scotch. He pulled the bottle out and fumbled with the screw top, necked a draught straight from the bottle. A burning sensation caressed the back of his throat and he felt the tension fall away. He cradled the bottle in his lap like a newborn and closed his eyes again.
    Big K’s face floated in the grey mist, mouthing the words from all those years ago: fuck or be fucked. Well, what goes around comes around, Budgeon thought. Payback time; the stuff with Frankie only the start, an illustration that he was serious and a prelude to something much grander. Something to take away his final worry and which would bring his old pals a whole symphony of pain and misery and