MARTY squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to suppress his rising panic. He knew that if he didn’t concentrate hard, he was going to give the game away by taking to his heels down Hannastown Hill to the Glen Road and thence to the safety of his ma’s house in Lenadoon.
He adjusted the large plastic buckle on his tunic, but it still dug into his ribcage causing him excruciating pain every time he bent over. This was another one of Harry’s ‘brilliant’ ideas – to dress up as a highwayman. The fact that the outfit he had managed to hire was about three sizes too small for him only added to his discomfort. The only good thing about it was the wide-brimmed hat and the cape. At least they gave him some protection from the driving rain coming off the Black Mountain. Why did it always rain on Halloween night? Every year it was the same. Rain and more bloody rain!
He moved his sodden feet into a more comfortable position and peered into the darkness. He wondered where Harry and Brendy were and wished for the umpteenth time that he’d made some excuse to his mate when he’d met him on the Andytown Road three days ago. He should have known it would end like this. He should have known what the outcome of that meeting would be...
“Hi, Marty... Marty!”
Brendy Flynn quickened his pace and hurried down the road after the hunched figure of his mate. Drawing alongside him he slapped Marty roughly round the head.
“See you, son? Yer as deaf as a post. I near choked m’self tryin’ t’ call ye there.”
Marty grunted: “Aye... a’ was miles away. What’s up?”
He stopped short, causing Brendy to bump into him. “An’ how come yer out this time of the mornin’? Yer usually not out of yer scratcher till lunchtime...”
“Aye... a’ know...,” Brendy answered, digging around in his pockets for his cigarettes, “but m’ ma was in one of her cleanin’ moods an’ turfed me an’ our Joe out till she sorted the bedroom. Mind you, she’s gonna get a quare shock when she finds what our Joe’s been tryin’ to grow in the wardrobe...” He grinned widely, offering Marty a cigarette from the crumpled pack. “Still, our Sharon’ll be pleased; she’ll get her long-lost sunlamp back!”
The two friends laughed out loud.
“That wee lad’ll niver wise up! Didn’t he nearly get your granny lifted last year when the peelers clocked the ‘exotic’ plant she had in her parlour windy an’ she told them she was mindin’ it for her grandson who was studying botany up in La Salle?”
This time the two laughed so much that Brendy went into a paroxysm of coughing whereby Marty had to thump him hard on the back before it eased off.
“He’s a friggin’ headcase that wee lad...” Brendy stuttered between breaths, “m’ granda always says he’ll either end up a very rich man or a jailbird. Mind you...” he added philosophically, “...he might end up in Milltown this time if m’ da gets the hoult a’ him.”
Marty grinned. “Too right... Anyway, what’s been happenin’?”
Brendy shrugged, “Ah, nothin’ much. Still haven’t heard back from that job I applied for. M’ ma’s havin’ a fit. She thinks if I don’t get somethin’ soon I’ll be headin’ off to Australia or somewhere. She’s dead right too; I’m not hangin’ aroun’ here an’ I’m definitely not sittin’ them friggin’ exams again. I’m even getting’ embarrassed an’ that’s sayin’ somethin’! How about you?”
Marty nodded. “Same here. I was thinkin’ about headin’ over t’ London for a while an’ maybe...”
He was cut off in mid-sentence by Brendy slapping his forehead and exclaiming: “Hell! I forgot t’ tell ye. All that chat about our Joe put it completely outta m’ head."
Marty looked enquiringly at him.
“It’s Harry! Harry Boyle. M’ ma was talkin’ to his ma at bingo an’ she said t’ tell all Harry’s mates that he’s comin’ home again for...”
“Halloween!” Marty almost shouted. “Bloody typical! Not a dickybird since he went back an’ suddenly he’s comin’ home for Halloween!”
“Ah come on mate. It’s Harry we’re talkin’ about here. Sure he nivver keeps in touch with any of us; nivver did...” Brendy rubbed his hands together. “Can't wait to see him again, though. He’s great craic.” He punched Marty’s arm. “J’member last Halloween when yiz took the shortcut over Slievenacloy? Jazus! that was some adventure yiz had. Wish I’d bin there,” he added wistfully.
“Aye right! You’d a’ been scared witless if ye’d seen thon... thon... thing. Harry an’ me could handle it but you...” Marty snorted, "you’d a' had a heart attack, Brendy oul' son!”
“Is that right?” Brendy said, peeved at Marty’s tone, “an’ who was it wouldn’t leave the house for over a month an’ made his ma leave every light in the house on day an’ night?”
Marty ground his teeth. He’d friggin' kill that wee get of a brother of his.
“Ye don’t want t’ heed our Paul. That wee get could lie for Ireland. He couldn’t tell the truth if it bit him on the arse. Anyway,” Marty went on, eager now to change the subject. Slievenacloy was a touchy one with him... very touchy. He never wanted to hear tell of the bloody place again as long as he lived! “When did y’ say Harry was comin’?”
“He’s here already. I’ve t’ see him down in the Rock at half-twelve. He asked me to get in touch with you an’ Micky, but Micky’s away somewhere. I was just headin’ down t’ your house t’ tell ye… yer comin’… right?”
Marty hesitated for a second. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Harry. It was just... seeing him would bring it all back; the cloying darkness of that night on the mountain.
The chilling realisation that what had taken place hadn’t been a figment of his imagination; it had really happened. Jazus! Even thinking about it now gave him the heebie jeebies! But he couldn’t let himself down in front of Brendy and the others. His life wouldn’t be worth living. He’d probably be the first person in the world to die of acute and prolonged sleggin'!
“Aye... course I am,” he said now, bowing his head in the hope that Brendy wouldn’t notice the nervous tic that had already started in his left eye.
“Great. C’mon then. There’s a hack... By the way, mate, you’d be as well seein’ about that eye of yours. That tic’s getting’ worse, so it is...”
Without waiting for a reply, Brendy stuck out his hand and the black taxi screeched to a halt beside them.
Wounded and just a little bit disconcerted by this blunt remark, Marty piled in beside his friend and together they made the short journey down the road to the Rock Bar.
"I'll have a pint an' a packet of pickled onion"
Harry didn’t see them at first, engrossed as he was in the Andersonstown News spread out on the bar. His pint untouched before him.
“What about ye, mate?” Brendy slapped him on the back, “an’ I’ll have a pint an’ a packet of pickled onion an’ Marty here’ll have the same.”
“Hey! Good to see you Brendy!” Harry folded the paper making sure he kept the article he had been reading to the fore. “You too, Marty.” He studied Marty’s expression. Was it his imagination or had Marty aged quite a bit since their last meeting? And was that some kind of nervous tic he had in his left eye?
“I was just doing a bit of catching up on the news front,” Harry went on, nodding to the folded newspaper. “I see hill walking seems to be the flavour of the month. There’s an article here about a group calling themselves the Glen Walkers. They’re walking again this Saturday. Wouldn’t mind joining them. What about it lads? Says here they’ll be tackling Slievenacloy again.”
Marty had just taken the first sip of his pint when he felt his throat constrict. He struggled to get the liquid down, but it was no use.
He barfed, then watched in dismay as it landed squarely on Brendy’s new leather jacket and dribbled down on to the counter.
“Ach for f***s sake, mate!” Brendy looked in dismay at his jacket. “What'd you go an’ do that for?”
Marty was mortified. Grabbing a table mat he began frantically to rub at the stain but this only made things worse as the dye from the carboard mat transferred itself onto the soft leather. Brendy now had a light tan jacket with an intricate blue and red pattern down the front.
“Givus that for f*** sake, before ye do any more damage!”
Snatching the soggy mat from Marty’s trembling fingers, Brendy proceeded to the gents to try and rectify the damage with a handful of toilet roll and the added assistance of the barmaid (who Brendy fancied rotten but who wouldn’t look sideways at him before and was now showing remarkable interest when she realised the jacket was a designer label and no doubt cost a fortune and maybe he could get her one just like it. For a price of course).
Harry grinned. “Poor oul' Brendy. That’ll teach him to ponce around in designer jackets when the rest of us have to make do with Primark. Eh, Marty?”
Marty ignored the remark. He was trying his best not to burst into tears.
“Did you see this other article, Marty?” Harry went on, unaware of Marty’s emotional turmoil, “about that spot up near Hannahstown where cars run uphill even when the engine’s turned off. Something to do with iron ore in the ground... mind you, I prefer the other explanation – the one that says it’s haunted by a highwayman looking for his buried loot. Apparently, it’s buried at the point where seven bleaching greens meet. Find out where that is an’ we’ve cracked it! Eh, mate? Here, read it for yourself.” He pushed the paper towards Marty. “Jeeze, wouldn’t that be the craic?” Harry went on eagerly, “especially for Halloween. Can you imagine the fun we could have Marty? We could lure some eejit into thinking we were working magic, especially if we dressed up an...”
“No! No way!”
A hush descended over the bar as all eyes turned in the direction of the shout. Marty lowered his head even further into the pint glass. Oh, Christ! He was going to cry. He couldn’t help it. A large tear slid silently down his nose and into his drink.
Harry looked on in amazement. What the Hell? Was Marty crying!?
“Are you crying, mate?”
Marty’s head shot up as he scrubbed frantically at his eyes.
“Ach, get a grip! Cryin? F*** off!… I’ve eh... I’ve got this here cold an’ it sorta makes my eyes water... an’ things...”
Harry eyed him. “Yeah right... whatever you say... anyway, as I was saying...ah!... here’s Brendy. Alright mate? See you got your jacket sorted.”
“M’ jacket? Oh... oh aye. Nothin’ a wee drop of soap an’ water couldn't sort. Isn’t that right, Tracy?” Brendy grinned as Tracy blushed and busied herself behind the bar.
“Right... what have I missed? What have youse two been plannin’ behind my back an’ don’t say ye haven’t for I can tell by Marty’s bake that somethin’s up. So what’s happenin’ that I shud know about?”
Marty closed his eyes. He knew that as soon as Brendy found out what Harry was planning, there would be no going back. Whatever madcap plan the two of them came up with, it was a dead cert that he would be part of it as well.
“I was just mentioning to Marty here about this article in the paper about the highway man and the buried loot and...”
...and that was why Marty now found himself crouching in a ditch, foundered. His feet like two lumps of ice as he peered into the darkness trying to see where Harry and Brendy might be. The whole thing had been a damp squib as far as Marty was concerned. The plan was that Harry and Brendy would somehow manage to stop an unsuspecting motorist and having coaxed him or her out of their car they would then engage them in chat whilst the carefully placed vehicle would then begin to roll backwards up the road. This would be Marty’s cue to jump out of the ditch with a menacing cry demanding that the poor unfortunates ‘Stand and Deliver!’
What was supposed to happen next, Harry was unsure about... but Marty had volunteered his own opinion
“… an’ that’s when I git m’ head dug in or worse! Your problem, Harry mate, is that yiv bin away in London too long. Joy-ridin’ is still high on the list of popular sports here, with a bit of oul fashioned hijackin’ threw in for good measure! An’ you want me to jump out of a hedge in the middle of the night shoutin’ Stand and Deliver? Wise up, will ye mate, For f*** sake?"
But as usual, Harry had his own way once more and Marty found himself shivering in a ditch on Halloween night. Already he could feel the eeriness of the darkness closing in on him. An overhanging branch brushed against his neck causing him to jump nervously.
Once again, he squinted into the inky blackness. Where the hell were they? He hated the friggin’ countryside; nothin’ but bloody fields and ditches. There wasn’t even a street light on this stretch of road or if there was it had long since been vandalised.
He sat up suddenly. The cramp in his legs forgotten as he strained his ears to listen.
What was that? A cross between a groan and heavy breathing. In a second, Marty was on his feet. The searing pain as the belt buckle bit into flesh ignored as he crouched, poised for flight. Somebody was coming towards him.
He thought at first that it was Harry or Brendy and he exhaled loudly with relief. Maybe they could all go home now or, better still, head down to the Suffolk Inn for a drink. He could murder a pint; his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. But as the form came nearer, Marty realized it was neither of his mates; this guy was the size of a house. At that moment Marty understood the meaning of frozen with fear. He couldn’t move. It was as if his feet were welded to the ground. All he could do was watch as the menacing figure came closer and closer...
Jazus! He was a giant. An’ what the hell was he wearin’?
In his shocked state, Marty forgot for a minute that it was Halloween, as he tried to take in the strange clothing. Then, suddenly remembering and realizing that he wasn’t exactly wearing conventional clothing himself, he allowed himself to relax a little.
“What about ye mate?” Marty shoved a hand out in greeting. “Ye scared the b’Jasuz outa me comin’ outa the darkness like that. Did Harry send ye?”
There was no reply and Marty stared harder at his companion. His outfit wasn’t half convincing. The full sleeved lace frilled shirt. The thigh high leather boots and the leather waistcoat. There was no way he got that getup in McPeake's. Mind you… Marty sniffed... whoever he hired it off might have had it cleaned first for it was mingin’. He sniffed again. Maybe it was yer man himself; that long matted hair and the beard looked a bit manky...
The man was standing very still and although he couldn’t be sure in the darkness, Marty got the impression of icy blue eyes staring into his own. There was a light rustling sound as some small animal moved around in the undergrowth and for some strange reason, an icy chill unrelated to the coldness of the night ran down Marty’s spine.
If this was Harry’s idea of a joke, sending this leaper up here, he’d...
Suddenly there was movement and Marty found himself pinned up against the trunk of a tree, the bearded face just inches from his own, foul, fetid breath fanning his face.
This guy hadn’t kept his dental appointments, that’s for sure! A grimy hand was thrust forward and Marty was sure he saw the muzzle of an old fashioned pistol beneath the leather waistcoat. He tried frantically to cry out, but it was no use. His throat, like the rest of him, was paralysed with fright. This was it. He was going to be murdered here in this God-forsaken spot by some maniac with chronic halitosis. Was it any wonder he hated the bloody countryside. He always knew it would get him in the end...
The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the man’s face, still indistinct in the darkness, hanging over his own, and the sound of a horse whinnying. Then finally, a floating sensation as though he was being lifted high up into the air...
“Marty! Marty, son, will yih wake up? There’s somebody here lookin’ ye.”
Marty did his best to open his eyes but it was as if they were glued shut.
“Will y’ get up outa that till I get this room aired for it stinks t’ high Heaven! I don’t know what ye got up to last night, wee lad, but whatever it was y’ better have a good explanation for the state ye came home in. An’ another thing...” His ma’s voice was like a drill boring into his skull. “Where the hell did y’ get thon horse? That oul lad next door will have a fit when he sees the state of his roses not t’ mention his fence. Thon baste was no Arkle, that’s for sure! Now will ye get up!”
At last Marty managed to open his eyes, trying hard to focus on his mother as she bustled about the room, picking up articles of clothing and shoving them into a black bin liner.
“In the name a’ God wud ye luk at the state of these clothes! They’re only fit for the bin!”
She paused in her task and glared at Marty. “There’s two peelers down them stairs that want t’ know why you an’ some other hallion took it upon yerselves t’ dig a bloody great crater in the middle of the Monagh Bypass, an’ don’t say yiz nivver done it for there’s the proof!”
Lifting a long-handled shovel from the floor, she pointed to what looked like a saddlebag made from some kind of oilskin. “An’ as for that boggin’ lukin’ thing y’ brung in! God knows what’s in it for I wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. Now for the last time, get up outa that and get down t’ them two peelers for they’ve been clutterin’ up my kitchen for the past half hour an’ the neighbours’ curtains are already beginnin’ t’ twitch...”
Giving the duvet a final tug his ma left the room and Marty pulled himself up on to the pillows.
Little snippets of the previous night’s goings-on came back to him like a badly spliced film. His head was pounding and the tic in his eye was so pronounced he could barely keep it open. His gaze fell on the oilskin bag, and he dragged himself painfully to the end of the bed. Reaching down he grasped it. It was surprisingly heavy, but he managed to haul it on to the bed, noticing with dismay the greasy deposit left on the duvet cover. His ma would have plenty to say about that when she saw it.
Undoing the twine that held it shut, he upended the contents on to the bed and gasped with shock as the gold sovereigns, rings, necklaces and other precious stones spilled out.
As Marty fell back against the pillows, his ma’s voice came floating up the stairs.
“An’ don’t think yer getting’ away with wastin’ that nice dinner I made for ye. Bloody disgrace the way you waste good food, an’ after the price I had t’ pay for that steak as well.
"Bloody highway robbery it was..."
