No More Heroes by Ray Banks

Author:Ray Banks [Banks, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780151014590
Publisher: Polygon
Published: 2008-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

26

Frank was at the meeting, just like he promised. From the tape, I can make out that they had coffee — “Kwiksave No Frills instant,” says Frank — and a tea that he couldn’t place. From the sounds of it, caffeine’s the last thing these people need. Sounds more like a zoo than a community meeting.

Frank motions me to fast-forward.

“Nothing happened?” I say.

He shakes his head, keeps motioning.

“I read the paper, man. Says there was a brawl.”

Another shake, another fast-forward gesture.

I do as he says, the hiss of the tape hitting the sound of voices suddenly. Frank waves at me to stop and rewind.

Whatever happened at the meeting, the tape recorder didn’t pick it up. Too far away, maybe — there’s just white noise and the occasional raised voice. That fucker at Dixons scammed me. But the way Frank’s acting, the meeting’s something I can strain my ears listening to later. He’s more interested in afterwards, what I’m guessing he did to get himself kicked to shit.

“… was saying in there …”

Frank’s voice.

“Yeah?”

A male voice. I don’t recognise it.

“Just saying, y’know, I thought you was right, like. We’re in trouble. Tell you, I’m worried.”

“You’re worried. Right.”

Some laughter. Loud and kind of obnoxious.

“Big bloke like you, you’re fuckin’ worried … Jesus, I don’t hold out much hope for the rest of us …”

“Yeah, I’m worried,” says Frank on the tape. “I mean, Phil Collins, right, he’s acting like he knows what’s happening round here. But that’s not what I’ve seen, is it?”

“He’s a politician, mate. He’ll say black’s white. Besides, he’s old-school, he’s not one of us. Fuckin’ Phil Collins is more concerned about keeping the fuckin’ peace than he is owt else, the cunt.”

“Got to be something I can do about it, mind.”

Laughter, but not from anywhere near the microphone. Frank’s speaking to more than one bloke, it sounds like. And the background noise — not a church hall, more like a pub. The voices raised not in anger, but to be heard over the general noise. So the meeting’s over. And Daft Frank went to the pub.

“Tell you what you can do, Frank. You can vote ENS next council election. Get Jeffrey Briggs on the fuckin’ case, you’ll be fine.”

More laughter, and I wonder what’s so fucking funny.

“Briggs is a politician, too.” That’s Frank.

They don’t hear it. “Yeah, get Briggsy out from Bolton. Here, I knew that cunt when he was a fuckin’ boot boy. Fucker were down the terraces at Maine Road, he’d be the first to kick off given half an excuse. Taking them cunts from the ICF right the fuck down.”

Someone else chimes in. And I think I know the voice: “To the fuckin’ pavement, Frank. Think on.”

“And look at him now, eh? Billy Big Bollocks. Right fuckin’ top dog, eh? Mister fuckin’ Suit.”

“Ease up, Russ. Briggsy’s legit now. He’s establishment. He has to be else they won’t give him the fuckin’ airtime.”

Jesus, it’s Eddie. Frank’s been hanging out with Eddie.

Before I can ask Frank about it, this Russ bloke interrupts: “He’s legit.

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