The so-called hard cunt

Andy Rivers

This is my boozer. This is my estate. My lads run things round here and everybody knows it. We sell in here, we sample our own product in here, we get a lock-in here every time I want one and, if I give the nod, we discipline anyone who steps out line in here. The landlord Ken knows the score. If he wants to keep his business and his face he does as he’s told.

‘Fergy, here mate.’

My trusted right-hand man Lamby passes me a pint of Carling and I survey my empire. Twenty-five years old and I’ve made it. The rest of my crew, about ten of them, are in the pool room fucking about and the normal punters are keeping well out of there. It wasn’t always this easy, I’ve had to fight my way to this position. When we first started selling gear as teenagers me and Lamby had toe-to-toes with a few other likely lads but they didn’t last long. I was always the best fighter at school and now I’m the hardest bastard on this patch of coastline ten mile out of Newcastle. I hold the ground for selling about three mile either way and no rivals want to know any more, especially as we’re the preferred outlet for our supplier and everyone knows he classes us as part of his crew. We get the birds as well, all of them round here, that’s a big recruiting tool for me an all. Makes me laugh though, they do all the classes at school about that toxic masculinity thing and all the other made-up shite they like to use to slag lads off with these days. They all agree with the teachers and the youth workers and say ‘yes it’s really bad Miss and I’m against it’ and then they come and fuck us and blow us whenever we want while all the nice, nerdy kids they won’t have anything to do with are at home watching all the videos about that Tate fucker so they can become as horrible as us so the lasses will notice them. Fucking mad when you think about it – like Turkeys voting for Christmas.

Yeah the only bad thing about being number one really is I miss the fighting a bit sometimes, nice to keep your hand in isn’t it?

‘What you looking at Grandad?’

Lamby’s easily upset.

‘Yeah that’s right, keep your fat fucking head down and eat your dinner.’

Ken, the landlord, looks over. Doesn’t even think about stopping us from bullying his locals. Bit of a let-down he was really. He took over about a month ago and I’d heard stories about him from years back when he used to run pubs in the toon and mix it with the bad lads. So-called hard cunt apparently, I was hoping he’d make a stand so’s I could make a public example of him but he’s past it now, just wants an easy life by the sea. Fucking disappointed I was I can tell you.

Yeah, this place is mine. As long as we don’t go too far there’s an easy living to be made here, good money selling shit to fuck-ups. Jobs a good ‘un.

Lamby’s eyeing up the rest of the punters but no-one’s looking back. Just as well. We haven’t had a scuffle for a while and he likes to show people how much of a handful he is - might be worth heading down to Shields or Byker or somewhere later to give everyone a run out, use up a bit of that energy. Might even tax a few divvies stupid enough to get in our way, actually yeah, like the sound of that.

‘Look at the state of these two stupid old bastards Fergy lad. Walking in like they fucking own the place.’

I look up as Lamby nods towards the blokes who’ve just wandered in. Adidas Gazelles, Jeans, Polo shirts and bald heads. Old-school hooligan has-beens, they might regret popping in here with the mood he’s in.

‘Alreet Tadge, been a while mate.’ The younger looking one with a nod and a smile at Ken.

Hard to believe a chubby old no-mark like him has a nickname. I mean look at him. Pair of snide crocs and shit direct joggers topped off with a fucking beer-stained Slazenger t-shirt. That bloke’s never been anything but a lackey for sure. I mean he’s got big hands and some thick old biceps but the belly and the tits tell you he’s a never-was more than a has-been. The fucker’s definitely over-stated his CV to the brewery when they were looking for someone to quieten this place down. Gullible twats.  

I’m interrupted in my critique when Lamby nudges me and motions to the rest of the bar. They’re all looking up and there’s like a buzz of recognition towards the two blokes. I give them both a good once over but can’t place them like. Then the older one catches my eye and holds my stare. These fuckers might have to learn the way things are round here. Ken’s smiling at them, first time I’ve seen him happy since he took over. Something’s up here.

‘Can I get a picture son?’

One of the old cows is up to the younger one and getting a selfie, gets a kiss off him an all. I look at Lamby with a who-the-fuck expression but he just shakes his head. No idea. I can tell he’s annoyed though.

‘Who the fuck are you then?’

He’s right in the blokes face but the bloke isn’t bothered. Most people shit themself at this point and start stammering apologies but this fucker just smiles and winks. Then the older one speaks.

‘You the hard bastard then?’

Fucking cheek. Looking at Lamby saying that.

‘We’re all fucking hard bastards old man, but if you’re looking for the top boy you’d better step into my office you mouthy twat.’

I nod to the pool room where the lads have cottoned on and they’re picking up cues. Lamby just grins and steps up to the younger one again.

‘Ken call in the Geordie cavalry then did he? He’s fucking bodied you two, killed you stone-dead - there’s a mate for you eh?’

The younger one just smiles again. Neither of them giving a fuck about any of us. Best give them a maths lesson.

‘Two of you? He called in two of you against all of us. After we’ve dealt with you pair of pricks he’s going to pay for the disrespect of underestimating us!’

There’s a shout from down the bar.

‘Fucking do him Billy.’

I glare down there. The shouter stares back at me, defiance and hate written all over his face. That fucker is marked for later. I turn back to the older one.

‘Billy fucking who?’

He stares right through me again. There’s something fucking nasty behind them eyes and in all honesty I’m glad we’re mob-handed.

‘You’ll work it out little fella...’

There’s laughing down the bar, all the old bastards are enjoying this. They’re all fucked. Every fucking one of them. I look down there again. The shouter smiles back at me and makes a wanker sign. I can feel my temper getting to dangerous levels now.

Then his mate knocks Lamby clean out with a left hook that only travelled about six inches  and this Billy fucker looks at me again. He’s tilting his head to one side like a fucking lion looks at an injured buffalo or something and there’s another shout from the coffin dodgers.

‘Still got it Carlos lad.’

Carlos? Rings a bell that? The fuck have I heard that name before?

This Billy prick is just smiling at me, relaxed as fuck. Why’s he not panicking? There’s a rabbit off here and I’m not taking any chances. I look to the lads in the pool room to give them the nod but as I do the doors open again and five of the biggest, horriblest fuckers I’ve ever seen walk in with baseball bats and fucking destroy them in ten seconds. Then they start going through their pockets and getting their phones and addresses and stuff.

Then Billy fucking no-name looks round at them, smiles and looks back at me.

‘Looks like it’s just me and you then Mr Top Boy.’

Sneers the words as he steps towards me.

I’m off for the doors but Ken gets in my way.

‘My mates call me Tadger and have done for decades son. You, on the other hand, well from now on you can call me sir!’

Then he bangs me in the jaw. Hard.

‘You’re dead...you’re fucking dead...’

Billy’s just laughing. I’m dragged up off the floor and they go through my pockets as well. Now even if I get out of it they know where I live. Fuck.

‘There’s two grand here Tadge, stick that behind the bar for your locals mate.’

Fuck. I owe that money to Malky my supplier.

‘I’ll fucking kill you, you old prick.’

This Billy bloke stops laughing and puts his face near mine.

‘No you won’t little boy.’

I think I’m starting to remember who he is...oh fuck...my debt is the least of my fucking worries now.

‘I work for Malky McBride…’ I manage to gasp out, ‘…he won’t be happy with you…’

The smile on his face stops me in my tracks. He is definitely who I think he is. Shit.

‘What’s going to happen Mr Top Boy is you’re going to die in this bar right here right now. The fact you’ve insulted me by trying to scare me off with that little Scottish fanny McBride means you’re also going to die in a lot of pain. We’re going to film it so if any more of you little pricks decide to try your luck with one of my friends then they’ll know what to expect.’

I can’t stop the piss running down my leg. I’m so scared. I know who he is and I know he’ll do it.

There’s another burst of laughter from the bar.

‘Look at the little fucking prick, crying for his mother.’

And I am, I’m sobbing and begging for my life. Lamby’s back up and being slapped about by the other one, that Carlos. He’s crying and pleading as well. The rest of the gang are apologising and selling each other out to save themselves but it’s not working as they get casually beaten with bats.

‘Please don’t kill me Billy.’

He looks disappointed. He would. This is the bloke that took on and killed Vince Merry when he ran the whole of Newcastle.

This is Billy fucking Reeves.

‘I expected better. Heard you were hard.’

‘I’m not, I’m a soft bastard. I’m a bully. I’ll fuck off and never come back, I promise.’

He shakes his head.

‘Nah, you’ve got to go.’

Then he’s got a blade in his hand. Fuck.

‘Hold on Bill.’

That’s his brother the fucking boxer isn’t it? That’s who Carlos is, no wonder he sparked Lamby.

‘No point in doing time for this little dickhead is there?’

‘No grasses in here wor kid is there though? Fuck it, we’ll do the whole lot.’

Everyone’s crying and begging now. I can feel the piss in my trainers. Lamby’s puking up and the lads are covered in blood.

‘Lot of bodies to get rid of though innit?’

‘Aye, S’pose like.’

We’ve got a chance here.

‘I’ll fuck off Billy, we all will.’

‘Where’ll you go?’

‘Down South somewhere, I’ll never come back.’ And I mean it. If I get away from this I’m never coming back. Can’t anyway ‘cos Malky will be looking for me as well.

He looks like he’s thinking about it for a minute that seems like a year before he nods and smiles. I’m thanking him and apologising and crying. Then he grabs my head and glares into my eyes, it’s like looking at a shark in a tank and I can’t stop shaking.

‘Just for info Malky McBride being unhappy with me isn’t something I would ever have given a fuck about anyway. Now after you and your gang of pricks have cleaned this bar, you can piss off but know this, if I ever see you again then you die. Understand?’

I can’t trust myself to speak without crying so I’m just nodding furiously and he throws me to the floor.

‘Can you sort these fannies out with some cleaning gear Tadge?’

Then he just looks back at me and shakes his head. It’s like there’s a flash of pain in his eyes and he almost winces. His brother puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him an enquiring nod. Billy dismisses the unsaid question with a slight shake of his head and turns back to me, bending down as if to speak to me he just casually runs the blade down my cheek.

The pain takes a second to catch up with the blood, then my screams get there a heartbeat later but Billy has already turned away. As I hit the floor again I can hear him mumble under his breath.

‘Fucking disappointment if you ask me.’

© Andy Rivers 2023