Hit Me Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Thanks

  Dedication

  Author's Words

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: New Saw It Coming

  Chapter 2: Rocked by a Low Blow

  Chapter 3: Reeling from the Punch (Part 1)

  Chapter 4: Reeling from the Punch (Part 2)

  Chapter 5: A Formidable Opponent

  Chapter 6: A Gentle Spar

  Chapter 7: Only One Way Out

  Chapter 8: Forth Railway Bridge

  Chapter 9: Scooby Doo and the Tasmanian Devil

  Chapter 10: The Game Plan

  Chapter 11: Back to the Hospital

  Chapter 12: Cancel the Hit!

  Chapter 13: The Ladbrokes Mafia

  Chapter 14: The Target

  Chapter 15: The Coffee House

  Chapter 16: Opportunity Knocks

  Chapter 17: Nash!

  Chapter 18: Souter vs Roman

  Chapter 19: Recover Between Rounds

  Chapter 20: Get Those Hands Up!

  Chapter 21: Junior

  Chapter 22: Shit Stir

  Chapter 23: Maltesers

  Chapter 24: Tracking

  Chapter 25: Welcome to the Highlands

  Chapter 26: Who Killed Bambi?

  Chapter 27: Grace is Stood Up

  Chapter 28: Phone Call to Miss White

  Chapter 29: The News Report

  Chapter 30: Runaway Train

  Chapter 31: The Falls of Glomach

  Chapter 32: Breaking and Entering

  Chapter 33: Target Practice

  Chapter 34: Junior's Secret Sideline

  Chapter 35: Spy in the Camp

  Chapter 36: Philip Robertson QC

  Chapter 37: Stag Hunting

  Chapter 38: Ross Souter and Grace – Round 1

  Chapter 39: Grace and Roman

  Chapter 40: Ross Souter and Grace – Round 2

  Chapter 41: Raymond and Burnsey

  Chapter 42: Ross Souter and Grace – Round 3

  Chapter 43: Searching for Mr. Wild

  Chapter 44: Toilet Paper

  Chapter 45: Pish Talk and Dorusduain

  Chapter 46: Roman's Houdini

  Chapter 47: Souter Searches

  Chapter 48: King of the Jungle

  Chapter 49: Hatchet the Halfwit and Billy Blow

  Chapter 50: Hatchet vs Crazy Horse

  Chapter 51: Barney in the Sights

  Chapter 52: Chicken Run

  Chapter 53: Barney's Escape

  Chapter 54: The Big Miss

  Chapter 55: Checking In

  Chapter 56: The Hitman's Message

  Chapter 57: Back to Grace

  Chapter 58: Midnight Caller

  Chapter 59: Roman and the Hitman – Round 1

  Chapter 60: Roman and the Hitman – Round 2

  Chapter 61: Souter Baffled

  Chapter 62: Roman in the News

  Chapter 63: Ross Souter and Grace – Round 4

  Chapter 64: Grace's Visitor

  Chapter 65: Souter Perplexed

  Chapter 66: Crossing the Line

  Chapter 67: Grace Calls Barney

  Chapter 68: War Council

  Chapter 69: Funeral Arrangements

  Chapter 70: Funeral Notice

  Chapter 71: Funeral Service

  Chapter 72: Ross Souter Undercover

  Chapter 73: Funeral Brawl

  Chapter 74: The Trap

  Chapter 75: The Surprise

  Chapter 76: Problem Solved?

  Chapter 77: A Coffin Made for Two

  Chapter 78: The Final Round

  Chapter 79: All's Well That Ends Well

  Glossary

  About the Author

  First Published in Great Britain by Alex Brown and Class Moustache Books

  This paperback edition published in 2018 by Alex Brown and Class Moustache Books www.hitmebook.co.uk

  www.classmoustache.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Alex Brown

  Alex Brown has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission in writing from the author.

  With S.T. Cairns

  Edited and Brought to Print by Ethos Writing Agency www.ethoswriting.com

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-1-9995833-1-6 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-9995833-2-3 - Hit Me (hardback)

  ISBN: 978-1-9995833-3-0 - Hit Me (ebook)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover Illustration © 2018 by Copy Made, Edinburgh Typeset by Kelvin Carlos Typesetters

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

  A very special thanks to Stephen Cairns and Ana Petrusevski from Ethos Writing for all their help and guidance, and also giving me the confidence when I had my doubts to see the project through.

  Special thanks to Stuart, Grant and Tomas from Copy Made Ltd. for their work on all images and in creating the excellent book cover.

  Special thanks to Brad Welsh at Holyrood Boxing Gym for all his efforts in the promotional work.

  The biggest thanks of all is to my wife Monica, my family and friends for putting up with constantly hearing me go on about the book over the last few years.

  Finally it is done!

  In loving memory of my mum June, my dad Alex, and my brother Stephen

  All passed away far too soon and inspired this book.

  Always Missed & Never Ever Forgotten

  Author’s Words About Some Subject Matter in the Book

  It’s very hard for family and friends to cope when a loved one has cancer. The best thing you can do is treat them as you always have, like a father, a mother, a brother or a sister, a son or daughter, a friend or neighbour.

  Love them, talk to them, agree with them, or better still disagree with them, but treat them the same as always and be with them.

  “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in getting up every time we do.”

  – Confucius 5th century Chinese philosopher

  Prologue

  Callum walked through the dismal hospital court yard to the covered area behind the canteen, where old generators rumbled against depressing brown brickwork dressed in

  layers of mould.

  Hidden from view and prying eyes, he took out a tiny spliff

  from a tin box in his trouser pocket. The thought of a smoke had kept him going since the start of his shift. Finally, he’d made it to his morning break.

  “Here’s a wee gift for ma loyal customer,” Tam had said, a few days before. “Special concoction, created by yours truly.”

  Callum had eyed the tampon sized joint with a certain distrust. “It’s a bit small,” he said.

  “Aye, bet that’s what all the lassies tell ye,” said Tam. “But dinnae let the size fool you. This is pure rocket fuel.”

  Tam’s warning was given about as much respect as the patients’ blood tests he was supposed to check and then re-check before putting into the container fridges for testing. With a flick of his silver zippo, Callum sparked up and got the burn going on the white paper. Inhaling deeply, the warm smoke filled his lungs, which were totally unprepared for the cosmic blast that hit
them. A flash of blinding light in his minds’ eye, and then... some sort of eternity.

  When his neurological systems eventually returned to a more normal state, Callum found himself sitting down with his back to the damp brick wall, knees up to his chest. His spliff had disintegrated, leaving a blackened burn between his forefinger and thumb. He blew the dust away and then licked the fingers of his other hand to give the ashen mark a wipe.

  On checking his watch, he observed all four digital numbers spinning through the zero to nine sequence over and over again. He blinked a few times and waited until they stopped, one after another, to show he was five minutes late. Shit.

  Dr. Cole wasn’t going to be happy. But then again, Dr. Cole never was. Callum’s last appraisal consisted of being told to improve his scruffy appearance and place a greater importance on punctuality. His general lack of interest was also an issue; something he’d need to attend to if he wanted to keep his job.

  As he clambered back into the building, Callum found he had bigger things to worry about. His left and right brain had somehow swapped sides and simply walking along the corridor required the utmost concentration. If he hadn’t been at work, he might actually be enjoying it.

  A hospital cleaner pushing a rattling trolley with a wonky wheel gave him a nod. Callum tried his best to smile back but his facial muscles malfunctioned and returned the picture of a man who’d just sharted. The porter shook his head and continued on his rounds.

  Walking with what felt like an entire body stutter on Elvis’ legs, Callum somehow made it to the lab without passing anyone else along the way.

  His luck was in.

  The patronising Dr. Cole must have been called away, and only a tray of test tubes and blood samples remained. A note read:

  Callum, please continue to sort these out.

  They’re being picked up at 11.45am.

  I’ll be back after lunch. Dr. Cole.

  Callum sighed and leaned over the samples. The correct names and dates of the patients whom they belonged to started to disappear and re-appear on different cards and stickers. He shook his head, blinked and wiped his eyes. All he really had to do was move each specimen from the green tray into the corresponding named slot in the blue tray. However, the effects of Tam’s pocket rocket hadn’t let go of him just yet...

  Barney was a young amateur in only his third fight. The bigger and more experienced boy had won the first two rounds with ease. George, his coach, told him just to go out and enjoy the final two minutes. No point in telling the kid to try for the knockout. Not with arms as skinny as those. It’d be good experience for him anyway. When the bell rang, the older boy bullied Barney into his corner and began bashing away. It was impossible to see Barney behind his opponent and the giant guard of those oversized gloves. After about a dozen shots without reply, Barney swung a left hook just as the older boy slipped on water his corner man had spilled between rounds. The boy went down hard on his arm. Old McTaggart, the diehard referee, whose glasses were thicker than the perspex in a car’s front headlights, started the count. The boy pushed himself up and then collapsed in pain. His wrist had snapped in two places. Old McTaggart didn’t notice and so counted him out, raising Barney’s hand in victory. The result stood. “Lucky” Barney Wild, George had said afterwards. The name stuck.

  CHAPTER 1

  Never Saw It Coming

  The last time Barney had been this nervous was when he’d gone with his brother, Stephen, to get the results for the cancer. And now here he was. Same place. Same chair in fact. Different doctor, but same double knot in his stomach pulling tighter the longer the doctor took to say what he had to say. It’d been a job just to get here again. His fear of hospitals and illness was a recognised phobia and he’d been sick several times when the samples were taken the week before.

  “Sorry I couldn’t do this over the phone,” said Doctor Noble, “I am aware of your difficulties with hospitals but there are regulations with these type of test results. As you know, your GP felt there might be some other factors contributing to you passing out at the end of your recent marathon, which is why you were booked in for these tests.”

  In the past four years, Barney had completed six marathons, raising over a hundred grand for charities. However, the last one had been excruciating, nothing like the others. He’d coughed the whole way through and hit the wall far too early. It was only the pride of a fighter that had enabled him to cross the chequered finish line. A few strides later, he’d collapsed to his knees and then blacked out. When he came to, he was breathing through an oxygen mask and looking up at the concerned faces of the St. John’s ambulance crew. He’d convinced himself it was just a chest infection or maybe a bad cold.

  Barney’s hands were cupped between his legs and he slid one thumb over the other again and again as Doctor Noble went on. The doctor’s fine brown hair was wisped at the front like the plume of an eagle, and his dark staring eyes made his resemblance to a predatory bird all the more real and unsettling.

  Barney swallowed hard, eyes fixated on the doctor, almost pleading for him not to say the one word he feared the most. The word that conjured up so many images and memories of Stephen when he was ill. His wee brother, fading away on a hospital bed in a room full of terminally ill patients. Barney thought he’d known pain as a teenager when his gran died, but watching Stephen succumb to cancer had ripped his heart in two. The smell of the ward was something he’d grown to dread. Stale, musty, and decaying; like old meat left in a hot room. It took his breath away, and he’d often have to cover his nose and mouth. Sometimes he’d say he was going to get a bottle of juice and a newspaper, only to run down the hallway and spew up in the toilets.

  After Stephen’s death, Barney’s fear of cancer had grown into something his GP called a phobia. Now he didn’t so much as speak the word, closing any newspapers or magazines where it was written, or quickly changing conversation if it was brought up.

  Doctor Noble turned a page in Barney’s file. “As you know, we took a number of tests last week. These were delivered yesterday afternoon. That’s the reason I called you in on such short notice.”

  Barney could feel his heart beating faster.

  “There’s no easy way to say this,” Doctor Noble said.

  “Best just to say it,” said Barney.

  “It’s lung cancer.”

  The words hit Barney like five rapid to the gut, followed by an uppercut that snapped his head back. Doctor Noble allowed him some time.

  Barney had stopped twiddling his thumbs. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the doctor.

  “How far?” Barney asked, the nausea creeping up from his guts into his throat.

  “It’s advanced. Stage four. We could start a course of treatment immediately but I have to tell you now, it’s unlikely to be effective.”

  Barney had seen other people go through chemo. Even if you did beat it, it tended to come back for a rematch. Most people didn’t have the energy, or the will, to beat it a second time.

  “How long have I got?”

  “Six to eight weeks.” Doctor Noble paused. “Though that’s just an estimate. Possibly longer if you respond to the treatment.”

  Barney raised his eyebrows.

  “I’d rather not build up your hopes. The truth is, it’s not good. And if I were you, I’d start making arrangements sooner rather than later.”

  “I don’t even smoke,” Barney said, almost to himself.

  “It’s not only smoking that causes this type of cancer, I’m afraid. Passive smoking can contribute. There are hereditary factors to consider. Some people are just unlucky.”

  Unlucky? No one had ever said that to Barney before. He put his hand to his mouth. An unnatural heat was causing him to sweat. “Well, that explains all the coughing,” he said, trying to ease the tension inside himself.

  “Are you married?” continued the doctor, in his clinical fashion.

  “No,” replied Barney.

&n
bsp; “Do you have family or people you can speak to?” Doctor Noble opened a drawer. “I have these leaflets which might help,” he said, holding them out.

  But Barney was still thinking about the doctor’s first question.

  The one thing he hadn’t yet found was love. He’d had his fair share of women, of course, but the right woman, the one he dreamed about, hadn’t turned up. He’d never given up hope of finding her though. In fact, until today, he was sure she was probably just around the corner of next week, ready to welcome him home. That’s the way he’d pictured it anyway. But now that was gone. Gone too were his dreams of starting a family of his own.

  Barney wasn’t really aware of the rest of the conversation. Doctor Noble had asked if he’d wanted to start treatment the next week, but Barney had told him he needed time to think about it. Treatment, he knew all too well, meant the kind of radiation that knocked you down and made your hair fall out before kicking you in the balls just to make sure you knew it was serious. It was akin to having a bad flu that got worse every day. And if it wasn’t going to work, only delay the inevitable, then what was the point in putting yourself through it?

  Barney’s Granny sat him on her knee and told him there were two types of people in the world: McGees and McTacks.

  “What’s a McGee?” Barney asked.

  “McGees are givers,’ said his Granny, giving him a kiss. “They think of others.”

  “And McTacks?”

  “McTacks are takers,” she said, bumping Barney up and down like he was on a horse. Barney laughed. “McTacks are only out for themselves. And the happiest people in the world are those who do the most for others. You remember that, son. And you’ll always be happy.”

  Even at four years old, Barney knew his Granny was wise. That bit of advice had stuck with him all his life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rocked by a Low Blow

  Barney walked down the hospital steps in a kind of dream, only this one he couldn’t wake up from. How the hell had he not noticed he was so ill? Advanced stages of lung cancer. Doctor Noble had said it could be subtle but even he had seemed surprised at Barney’s physical state. For all purposes he looked a healthy forty-four year old man. Barney thought of Stephen in his hospital bed near the end. He’d looked so gaunt, as if his soul had been sucked out of his body until there was no more left. And what about the boxing gym? He’d have to sort out a good few things before he signed off. Stephen came into his head again.