Marty Jones was playing a clever little game. Meeting with an old man BB was sure was important, but he couldn’t remember who the man was. He’d seen him somewhere, he was certain. Anyway, Marty was meeting him, and BB was invited to stand outside the office above the gadget shop and wait for them to finish. That meant BB got to act as security for ten minutes before the real reason for being there was revealed.
He went into the office as the old man left. Marty was looking full of himself, but he often did. He was sitting behind one of the three empty desks in the room. The office looked like it was never used, which wasn’t true. You looked in and thought there was nothing happening there. You looked away. Then stuff started happening. Meetings with important people. Marty’s debt collecting business doing a lot of its work from there. Money flowed through that office faster than you could catch it.
“Good to see you Brian my boy, how are we today?”
“Good, yeah,” BB said. He was causal around Marty now. Used to be intimidated by his seniority, Marty was a man with influence, as most men who made money usually were, but that fear evaporated. You spend enough time around a guy and the intimidation goes. Know him for who he is, not for what the rumours say he’s like. He kind of liked Marty now. Smug and brash sometimes, but a guy who rewarded good workers.
“Right, we got ourselves a wee bit of a problem,” he said, leaning back in the chair and looking up at BB. “You remember that dickhead Jason Clark, the one with all the gambling debts? I sent you after him a couple of months back.”
“I remember him, yeah,” BB said, picturing the guy popping mints in the toilets of a pub.
“He still ain’t paid,” Marty said with a bit of a shrug.
BB was sure the man would pay. He had seen the defeat in him, he was convinced paying was the first thing Clark would do. BB couldn’t keep the shock off his face, and Marty recognised it.
“You rattled him,” Marty said, reassuring him. “Noting more you could have done. He paid a little, tried to make a deal for the rest. I don’t know, the guy’s trying to keep his family together, keep his wee secrets. He’s missed three payments, the bastard. Taking us for mugs. I want you to put some pressure on him. Drop round his house, rough him up. When he has nothing to hide from the family he might get that fucking mansion of his on the market.”
Mansion was an exaggeration, but not a huge one. It was a large detached house on a pristine cul-de-sac where no house would give you change from a quarter of a million. That family business must have been doing well at some point, even if Clark was intent on throwing his money away.
BB drove into the cul-de-sac, circled and came back along to where Clark’s house was. There was a driveway leading to a large garage, and an unfenced front garden. Obviously supposed to be the sort of place the kids could step out the front door and play with their friends in. Supposed to be like one of those streets you see in American movies where kids play out on the road and no car ever runs the precious little buggers over. One thing BB had noticed from his movie watching, according to Hollywood, America had built way more roads than it had cars for.
There was one car parked on the driveway, the same white BMW M5 BB had followed to the pub a couple of months ago. That was Clark’s car, which meant he was at home. It was a Saturday afternoon and that was the only car around, so maybe the wife wasn’t there. Wasn’t so much the wife he wanted to avoid, it was the kids. You never knew how kids would react, and he didn't want to traumatise them just because their father was a fucking moron.
He got out of the car and approached the front door. Rang the bell and waited. It was Jason Clark who opened the door. He frowned, then realised why he recognised the young man. Too late by then, the pause to frown was all the time BB needed to plant a foot in the door. Clark tried to push it shut but he had no more hope here than he did in the bathroom of the pub. BB was quickly inside.
“Please, I’m paying, I am, please.”
He was holding his hands out in front of him, lying and pleading. A lot of them did this, tried to pretend that they were actually paying and that there had to be some accounting error to blame here. Some administrative blunder they’d all laugh about later. Or they’d tell BB they’d paid in the last hour, that he should go back and check with his boss.
“You’re not though, are you?” BB said to him. There was genuine sympathy in his voice, but that wasn’t going to change what happened next.
“Please, not here, not in my house.”
Marty specifically wanted it done in his house. Wanted a message that even his family couldn’t ignore, and BB had to deliver that. Didn’t matter that this guy was a victim of an addiction. Didn’t matter that this punished his wife and children who had done nothing wrong. The job was to beat him in the house, maybe make a little mess around the house that he couldn't tidy up. Make sure the message got through.
There was a telephone on a table in the corridor that BB picked up. He clattered it into the side of Clark’s head. Leaving visible marks this time. Injuries that would have to be explained. Clark went down easy, exaggerating his injuries in the hope it would end the beating sooner.
People always did that. They thought they could somehow trick BB into thinking he’d dished out more of a punishment than he had. A man like BB, the amount of beatings he delivered, knew how to judge exactly how bad the consequences were. You couldn’t trick him, no matter how good an actor you think you are.
He bent down over Clark and punched him in the face, heard the crunch of a small nose breaking. That was a good thing, get a little blood on the nice cream carpet. For dramatic effect BB took the table the phone had been on and threw it at Clark. Damaged the table, left a considerable gash in the wallpaper behind him. Walked through to the living room and started making a mess in there. Knocking things over, but avoiding smashing anything that looked high value. No point making a man in debt even poorer.
When he walked back out into the corridor he found Clark on his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose. He was crying, trying to beg for BB to leave.
“You already had a warning,” BB told him. “You only get one of them. Now you got to start paying what you owe.”
“I am,” Clark said with a whimper, trying to sound angry that BB didn't know how hard he was trying. “I will pay, all of it. Please go. Please.” He was crying hard. A little man broken on the floor, but this still didn’t live up to Marty’s instructions.
BB heard a car door close, then another one. Clark hadn’t heard it through his sobbing. It was a shock to him when he heard the key in the door. He was scrambling to get onto his feet when the front door opened. A youthful, well dressed blonde woman came in first and stopped dead, looking at BB and Clark. Two similar looking little blonde girls followed behind her, more puzzled than scared. Now it was what Marty wanted.
“Sorry love,” BB said to the woman as he walked past her and out to his car.
Whatever secrets Clark had managed to keep from his family so far were splattered all over the carpet now. It was hard not to feel a little bit sorry for him, but that was the job.
YOU ARE READING
BB & Heather
Short Story"They had met a few times before. Parties, dancing in the same circles, that sort of thing. It was obvious they liked each other. Dancing close, a few drunken, slurpy kisses but never anything further than that. They were young and life was fast. So...
