The Chisellers by Brendan O’Carroll

Author:Brendan O’Carroll
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 1994-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Nine

Frankie Browne sat on the small two-foot wall that surrounded St Jarlath’s church. Beside him, down behind the wall, three other skinheads were playing poker. Although a keen poker player himself, Frankie didn’t want to join the boys in their game today, his mind was elsewhere. He had just ten days of his mother’s deadline left and still had nowhere to go. He had no intention of getting a job. Jobs were for ‘mugs’. He was no mug; he was too smart to be a mug. He thought about going to London – he had heard London was a great town for scams. Bunty Flynn said his brother was in London for three years and was signing on the dole at six different offices, making nearly £200 a week. That’s the kind of money Frankie was interested in, real money. He took a last drag on the cigarette and flicked the butt towards the curb. Just then from around the side of St Jarlath’s church another skinhead, ‘Copper’ Cullen, came running. He was breathless by the time he reached the group.

Frankie stood up. “What’s up, Copper?”

“The lads – the lads have a queer cornered up Peck’s Lane. Come on!”

The card game was abandoned and the five of them took off around the side of the church. Peck’s Lane was just a minute’s run from where they had been. As they came to the entrance of the lane they could see six of their skinhead friends milling around a slumped figure. Because the figure was now on the ground the gang resigned themselves to just booting the young man.

Frankie was the last of the five to join the attacking gang. As he arrived into the group he saw a gap in their legs and rammed his boot through the space straight into the back of the figure. This elicited a sharp yelp from the young man and a whoop of joy from Frankie. Some of the others stood back to let Frankie have a good go. As he stood over the body he could see clearly that the left arm was broken, with the wrist bent backwards, the head was matted with blood, and what had probably been fairly decent clothes were now in tatters. He picked the back of the victim’s neck for his next target and drew his boot back. As he did so the body whimpered. For a moment Frankie hesitated – there was something about that whimper. It was babyish, and he recognised it! He had heard it before years ago. He had heard it just after his father had died and he and the other Browne boys still shared one bed. He leaned down, took the shoulder of the body, and turned it towards him to see the battered face of a barely conscious Rory Browne. Before he passed out, Rory said simply, “Frankie?”

♦

“So what do you think?” Mark asked, unsure that he had done the right thing.

The two older men didn’t reply. They continued to walk around the dusty shop, glancing at the ceiling, stomping their feet on the floor.

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