In Cold Blood: A Brother’s Sworn Vengeance

He cracked his knuckles as he headed into the rec room and grinned at the memory of Miss Biggs’s smile. Right now would be a good time, in fact.

Chapter 6 (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)

Saturdays were good days at the approved school. Or the ‘community home’, as the courts tended to call them these days, to try and make it sound less like the hell hole it still was. Conformity was all. Conformity was the word they had drummed into them constantly. Conforming at all times, in all things, was what mattered, but at the weekends it loosened up a little. The school had two kinds of pupils, the ones that lived in, like Vinnie, and the ones who went home. These daytime-only kids had been in shit but it was lesser shit than he had. They’d have been expelled from their schools, yes, but would still be allowed to live at home with their families – they merely ‘attended’ rather than being ‘detained’. They made up at least half the pupils, so when they pissed off home to their families, there was a different, more relaxed feel to the place.

The staff were definitely more relaxed and even had a laugh with the lads sometimes. Not so much that you thought you could get one over many of them. Just enough to give you the impression that they were vaguely human. The best part of all, though, was that it was the day you got to spend your pocket money, along with any money your family had sent. The older lads – the ones allowed in town – brought back fags and baccy, which they would sell on to you at cost plus five roll-ups. Then there was the tuck shop. Here you could get sweets, chocolate and cans of pop. So although the regime was tough – all that bloody conformity – the weekends were for indulging in mischief.

This was Vinnie’s third full weekend now, and he was beginning to get things sussed, and, on opening the rec room door, things looked promising. His friend Billy was laughing with another couple of boys Vinnie knew, over by the pool table. Vinnie liked Billy; he came from the same kind of background, and having the same sort of things to laugh about and relate to, they’d quickly formed an easy, uncomplicated friendship. More than that though, it was quickly clear that Billy idolised Vinnie and would, as a consequence, go along with whatever he wanted to do. Quite handy for what Vinnie had in mind.

‘Now then, lads,’ he said, joining the group, ‘Who wants an arse whipping? An’ I’m talking about pool, for those of you with dirty minds.’

Across the rec room, another group of lads – four of them – were playing cards, and were obviously having some kind of an argument. Voices were raised, one belonging to a big lad called Joe; a boy Vinnie hadn’t had any sort of personal dealings with, but who he had still been busy keeping an eye on, because he had a reputation as someone not to be messed with. Joe would make a good target because he was a lad with some serious status. Vinnie studied him. If he took someone like him on – no small thing – he’d definitely get himself some status too, win or lose.

He carried on playing pool for a bit, but nodded over to them as he lined a shot up. ‘Watch them fuckers, Billy,’ he told his nervous-looking pool partner. ‘That big one’s a twat. There’s gonna be a ruck in a minute.’

Billy took his shot and nodded to Vinnie in agreement. ‘Best we keep out of it then, eh?’

Vinnie looked around for staff. There were none in the rec room currently, so this was particularly good timing; no staff meant no fucking interference. He grinned at Billy. ‘Keep out of it? Fuck that, Billy lad, this might just liven up my weekend.’

Without taking his eyes off of the group, Vinnie propped his pool cue against the wall. He then leaned over, slipped his plimsoll off, and peeled his sock from his foot, before picking up the white ball and placing it inside. He laughed at Billy’s now equally white face.

‘You okay, mate?’ he said quietly. ‘You look like you’re gonna throw up.’

‘Vinnie, what the fuck? Shall I go get Vincent? They look about 16, and that big one’s fucking massive!’

‘Which is why he’s the one we’re gonna go for first, Billy boy. And no – fuck Vincent. We don’t need him. We’ll do this together.’

Vinnie shoved his plimsoll back onto his foot and picked up his cue. Holding the sock hidden in his palm, he grinned. His blood was still up from seeing Bacon Neck Brian giving Sullivan a pasting, and the lad’s chatter about it, which was very much still ongoing, reminded him just how much he wanted to make a name for himself as well.

No fear. That was the thing. No fear. He could almost taste the blood, feel the thump of his heart in his chest, sense, rather than see, Billy quaking in fear beside him, feel his own features morph into a rictus that meant one thing – that he was going to give someone a proper pasting.

Billy had grabbed his cue now and was trying to psych himself up, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. Vinnie laughed.

‘Follow me, Bill, just act natural like, okay?’

Billy licked dry lips. Not much chance of that happening.

Not that anyone had even noticed them; they were too busy slinging insults. Even from across the room, it was clear that the argument had got more heated, the group of four now split into two, with each pair making threats towards the other. Though as Vinnie and Billy approached, pool cues in hand, one of the smaller lads turned to look at them. ‘D’ya want a fucking picture, like?’ He snarled. He was a Scouser. Even better, Vinnie thought. He hated Scousers.

‘Picture of you, cunt?’ he said. ‘Nah mate, you’re too fucking ugly.’

Billy laughed at that. Which seemed to flick a switch. The whole group fell silent, looking at him, and Vinnie, in turn, assessed them. It was a shame the little Scouse fucker was one of the pair arguing with Joe, the big lad. Now he would have to fight both sides.

The little one decided to carry on, looking towards his previous tormentors for allegiance.

‘Have you heard this, Joe?’ he asked. ‘Young ginger bollocks here fancies his chances.’

Vinnie felt the words like a slap. Fucking little cunt. He also noticed that Joe was now reaching into his back pocket. What for? A knife? Fuck. No time for small talk, then. He dived onto Joe immediately, aware of Billy’s startled cry beside him, but with all his energies now focussed on whacking his loaded sock, which he held by the end to give weight and a bit of a swing to it, repeatedly into the big lad’s spotty face.

He was soon aware that the little one had jumped onto his back now, to try and stop him, and then of Billy flailing around trying to get him off again. And with some success, too. After a short scuffle Billy managed to prise him right off and Vinnie could see he was now hitting him with his cue. Good lad.

The other lads, still apparently unsure what to do next, or who to go for, left him to get on with the job in hand – Joe’s fucking face. Which didn’t take long, a pool ball being such an effective weapon. In a matter of minutes, Joe – now pinioned safely underneath him – was covered in blood and minus several teeth.

Vinnie started laughing. It was an automatic thing – a kind of knee-jerk on seeing the pulpy mess he’d made now. He’d done a good job, but he wasn’t done with Joe yet, even so. He dangled the sock, with its ominous bulge now equally bloody, half an inch from the now terrified lad’s face.

‘Tell me who’s the hardest now, you fucking piece of shit,’ he yelled. It had almost been too easy. ‘Come on, tell me!’ he screamed.

‘Fucking get off me!’ Joe answered brokenly. ‘You’re the winner!’ He was crying. Crying and in very obvious pain.

‘Come on, Vin,’ Billy said. ‘Leave him now before the staff come. He said you won, didn’t he?’

Vinnie turned. Billy looked terrified. Good. He looked up at him, eyes blazing, still caught in the moment. ‘That’s not what I fucking asked, is it?’

Billy winced. ‘Is it?’ Vinnie screamed again, at Joe. ‘Is it?’

Joe started to thrust his body frantically beneath him. ‘Please get off me! I forgot what you asked!’

Vinnie paused for a couple of heartbeats, while the rest seemed to hold their collective breath. There was a stillness in the room now, which he relished. ‘Well, next time,’ he snarled, ‘you won’t fucking forget.’ Then he bent forward and bit down as hard as he could on Joe’s cheek. He felt the blood hit his own cheek, a pungent warm spray of it. And as cries of shock erupted all around the room, Vinnie felt triumphant. No one would call him ginger bollocks now.

Someone must have run for staff, though, because no sooner had he thought that than he felt strong hands grip his shoulders and others round his ribs, as he was torn from his victim and dragged to his feet. Mr Bastion, it seemed, and Mr Henry.

Bastion was the head of the institute, and had a reputation for his no-nonsense approach, and Mr Henry was his side-kick. An English teacher, Henry had his own reputation – all the lads said he had a thing for young boys. It was a rare occasion that these two would both be here on a weekend, but, as he was hauled up bodily by the latter, he decided that, for his intentions, this was a bonus. Mouth still dripping with blood and spit, he grinned at them.

‘All right, sir?’ he said to Mr Henry.

Both teachers looked sickened at what they had just witnessed. Both looked at Vinnie with a new sense of – what was it? Shock? Respect? Fear? Any would do, Vinnie thought, as he let them drag him from the rec room. Yes. Any of those three would do.

He was not so much directed to as thrust into a chair in the office and immediately handed a roll of toilet tissue. He could still taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. His pulse was slowing now. He licked his lips. Raised his eyes.

‘Clean your face up, you vicious little thug,’ Bastion commanded. ‘You’re in serious trouble, young man.’

Vinnie tore off some of the bog roll and slowly wiped his face with it, holding Bastion’s gaze as he did so. ‘They started on us, sir.’

He noticed Mr Henry staring at him, disgusted. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he added. ‘It’s bound to be all my fault, innit?’

‘It was all your fault, McKellan,’ Henry confirmed. ‘There’s a room full of lads in there that will tell us it was.’

‘Mr Henry, I swear. We were just playing pool, me an’ Billy, and them other kids started shouting stuff at us. They were taking the piss cos I got ginger hair …’

‘Did you see the state of that boy?’ Mr Henry interrupted, upping the volume. He jabbed a finger twice in the direction of the rec room. ‘He probably needs hospital treatment!’

Vinnie felt a surge of pride. Hospital treatment? That would mean notoriety, surely. ‘It was a fair fight, sir, honest,’ he said. ‘He’s miles bigger than I am. Was I supposed to just let him beat me up?’

Neither Bastion or Henry seemed interested in providing an answer. Instead of that, they exchanged a glance and shook their heads. ‘We have to involve the police in this, Vincent,’ said Bastion, giving him daggers. ‘And we most certainly will do, come Monday. In the meantime, you will receive six of the best, right now. And will then be confined to your room for the remainder of the weekend.’ He shook his head again. ‘Until this whole sorry mess gets sorted out.’

And he would be sorry. He didn’t doubt it. But that was fine; that was the price you had to pay, that sort of bother. That was the whole point they didn’t get. The reason he wasn’t that bothered; in the long term, it meant he’d get a whole lot less bother.

The six of the best – standard punishment in approved schools, if not all schools – was administered without any delay. It could be administered with a cane, or a ruler or a shoe – it didn’t matter. Just as long as it was something that was good at inflicting pain. Mr Henry’s weapon of choice was a leather shoe, an object he’d been acquainted with many times at his old school but never at the hands of this pervy fucker; the subject of many a rec room conversation.