places, he’d given up trying to work out where it hurt most. He’d caught sight of his face on one trip into the farmhouse. It was becoming harder, older.
Scarred.
Goldie was inspecting a fresh mark on his right thigh when they brought in the Bootle lad. Just dumped him in there, without a word.
They’d been getting a bit more light in the Dorm than in the first couple of weeks, so Goldie could see him fine. Dean, the other lad, wouldn’t have seen shit. He was in his usual position – lying down on his bed, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. He’d barely spoken two words to Goldie in the month he’d been in there with him.
Just shut down.
‘All right lad?’ Goldie said, standing up slowly, his thighs burning from overuse, his calves numb. It seemed too little a thing to say, but what the fuck else could he say? The lad had no idea what he was in for.
‘Who the fuck are you? What’s going on?’
Goldie held his hands out in front of him. ‘Calm down mate. It’s them out there you want to be pissed off with, not us.’
‘Us? Who else is here?’ the lad replied, standing up fully now. ‘Youse best tell me what’s fuckin’ goin’ on, or there’ll be fuckin’ murder, you get me?’
Goldie put his hands down. Curled them into fists instead. ‘Look,’ he tried a softer voice, but it didn’t really work. ‘Look, we’re in the same boat. I’m Goldie, the lad over here is Dean. We’ve been taken by a bunch of nutters who want to give us some kind of army training or some shite …’
‘Well, I’m MC Cray-Z. And MC Cray-Z doesn’t take any shit, you get me?’
‘You’re called what? Where you from?’
‘Bootle. What’s it to you?’
Goldie shook his head. ‘I’m not calling you MC Fucking Shit. I’m just gonna call you Bootle for now. That all right?’
‘This is bollocks …’
‘No,’ Goldie replied, taking a few steps towards him. ‘It’s not. It’s as fucking real as it can get. But you need to calm down, otherwise …’
‘Or what? What’re you gonna do about it?’
Goldie almost smiled. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to him like that when a gun wasn’t being trained on him.
‘Listen. I’ll give you one warning,’ Goldie said, stepping closer, five yards away from Bootle now, taking in his full five foot five figure. Small man syndrome exuding from every pore. ‘One warning, given what you’ve been through. But I won’t give you another.’
Bootle took a step forward, hands shaking, sweat on his forehead.
‘Do something,’ Bootle said as he stopped in front of him.
Goldie smiled then.
Gamma spoke first as they watched the camera feed from inside the Dorm. ‘We might have a problem here …’ she said, nudging Delta.
‘What do we do?’ Delta replied.
Gamma looked around at the only other person in the small monitoring room. Tango chewed on his bottom lip for a second or two, then spoke.
‘Get Alpha.’
A minute or so later, Alpha bounded in, forcing his way in front of Gamma and staring into the screen.
Gamma cleared her throat. ‘Should we go and stop it?’
Alpha stepped back, rubbing at his face before folding his arms.
‘No. Let’s see what happens.’
Goldie didn’t know where the lad had got the strength from, but he was starting to tire already. It was probably down to the endless drills he’d been forced to do in the previous weeks. Muscles not having been given a chance to heal properly, now screaming for him to stop. Lie down and don’t move.
Bootle had his small hands wrapped around his throat, trying to choke him but not succeeding. Goldie had his chin ducked down low, meaning he could suck in air. All the time, he was concentrating on trying to prise away the grip.
It had started as it normally did for Goldie whenever he was in a fight. Quick movements forward and a closed fist punch to the side of the other lad’s head. That usually put them down, then he could jump them. Put the boot in and end it.
But this time he’d miscalculated, and only skimmed the top of Bootle’s head. Then he’d been surprised by the force of the little bastard’s rugby tackle as he was forced backwards onto the floor.
Goldie stopped trying to prise the hands away. Drew back his fist as far as he could, and drove it into the side of Bootle. Kidneys. Instant pain. Bootle’s hands loosened and Goldie took his chance. He pushed him away, letting him fall to the side, before punching him in the jaw, hearing a click or snap – he couldn’t tell which one – in his right hand. He ignored it, punching again, hearing the satisfying thump of flesh on flesh as he carried on. Bootle’s face started turning red as knuckles met skin, cuts forming around his eyes and cheekbones. Blood mixing with sweat and tears.
Goldie left him coughing and retching on the floor, stood up, and began stamping on the cunt.
He was in his socks, so he wasn’t doing as much damage as he’d have liked, but it didn’t lessen the pain he knew he was inflicting. Drawing his leg up, smashing his heel right into Bootle’s stomach. Then a volley into his bollocks, to really take his breath away. Then he moved up. He had a wicked right foot on him, when he’d played footy instead of getting pissed or stoned with his mates, and he lined up Bootle’s face as if he was about to fire in a free kick in front of the Kop.
Bang.
The sound was deafening in the small space, making Goldie jump and lose his footing.
A soft voice from the corner, that’s all he could hear after the ringing had stopped.
‘No … no … no …’
Goldie looked over the broken body of Bootle towards the door. The main guy – Bally-Suit – stood there, backed up with two others. Holding the rifle level with him. The bang had come from one of the other two rather than him, Goldie guessed. Bally-Suit wouldn’t have fired a gun without it being pointed at someone, Goldie reckoned.
Goldie realised he was shaking his head, moving backwards all the time. The fight disappearing from him.
He was in the shit.
Bally-Suit man had offered up the name Alpha as he’d tied him to the rack. It suited him. Better than what Goldie had come up with.
Alpha. He was the one in charge.
Goldie tried not to pay much attention to what was happening. Thought he could zone out of whatever they did to him, think above the pain.
It didn’t – couldn’t
