The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [70]
The truck soon slowed and came to a full stop. They were stuck at the lights. The driver behind them began to grin evilly. He leaned out his window and shouted, “I’m going to give ye the hidin’ of yer lives, ye little shites!”
An icy, dangerous smile flickered across Lynch’s face and he dropped off the truck. Scully and Finbar watched amazed as he ran to the driver’s door and started taunting him. The man flung his door open and began to get out. In that split second, when the driver was off balance and had only one foot outside on the road, Lynch viciously kicked the door shut on the protruding leg. It made a sickening dull sort of crack and the man screamed in pain.
“Run for it!” Lynch shouted at Scully and Finbar, who were still clinging to the truck, numb and disbelieving. The vehicle began to move and the two boys dropped off and belted after Lynch down a narrow street of single-story houses.
“Lynch! You’re fuckin’ mad!” Scully yelled hysterically. He could not believe that even Lynch could do something so senselessly violent. Finbar fixed his eyes on the ground and ran with every ounce of fearful energy he possessed.
Lynch was about ten yards in front of them when he turned around. “Ah, bollix!” he shouted, and began to run even faster. Scully glanced over his shoulder to see the ominous and unmistakable dark blue hulk of a squad car coming down the street after them.
“Oh Jesus!” cried Finbar when he spotted it. He turned around again just in time to see Lynch and then Scully turn sharply down a laneway. He dashed after them, reciting the “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God” mantra of one who knows he is suddenly in deeper than imagined.
The lane was damp and treacherous with moss and rubbish. Scully slipped and went flat on his face and Finbar fell over him. They picked themselves up, ignored the hot stinging coming from knees and elbows, and scrambled after Lynch. Some instinct guided Lynch through the unfamiliar maze of lanes and he led them to a deserted part of the canal where they lay panting in the lee of one of the old locks.
Scully’s heart was in his mouth and he expected to be grabbed by a big culchie cop hand any second, but Lynch was exhilarated. Finbar sat shaking and avoided looking at his companions. He could feel fear settle in his stomach like a cobblestone. He could hear his father’s voice: Run with the wrong crowd and before you know it, you’ll be swearing and smoking and hanging around street corners. Short step from there to reform school and your life is ruined. End up in the gutter. His father was given to such vatic pronouncements of doom whenever Declan got into trouble, and now Finbar felt himself assaulted by panic. He would soon be arrested and sent to Drumgloom and his father would disown him and—
“That was fuckin’ deadly!” whooshed Lynch.
“Yeah,” whispered Scully, as he furtively glanced around for signs of arriving cops.
“Stupid fucker was askin’ for it,” said Lynch solemnly.
“Oh yeah. Stupid shitebag,” agreed Scully automatically.
“Come on.”
“Where?” asked Finbar cautiously.
“L&N.”
“What!?!” gasped Scully.
“Yeah! It’ll be grand.”
It took Scully two seconds to weigh up looking chicken versus the imprudence of returning to the scene of the crime: “Okay. Deadly. Let’s go.”
Finbar sat on the grass staring at them.
“You staying there, Bogman?”
The only thing worse than going with them was staying there alone and waiting to be hauled home in a squad car. He got up heavily and followed them.
Finbar was frantic as they reached the main road again. He furtively watched for prowling cop cars and tried to keep calm. Barely concealing his relief, he stepped into the L&N after Lynch and Scully and closed the door behind them.
At the sound of the little bell that hung on the back of the door, L&N—the only name anyone had ever given the proprietor—came out of the back room to check. He scowled darkly at them, tugged at the buttons on his dark blue