Winterton Blue Read Online Free PDF Page B

you know—Manny’s lips on the rim of his cup made the words almost inaudible—It’s not been easy. For any of us.
    Lewis kept his voice even.
    He’s not around, then?
    Oh, he pops in now and then, when he wants something. When he’s not off doing his own thing.
    Lewis sensed Manny’s reluctance to continue, but was curious to find out what kind of life Carl was living these days.
    What sort of thing?
    What does he call it, now? said Manny, playing for time, Oh yeah, you’ll like this. He calls it his fun run.
    Lewis was unable to keep the irony out of his voice.
    Like, a fun run for charity?
    And I’ll give you three guesses who’s the charity, said Manny.
    Lewis looked up at the older man. He wore a grim fix on his face, deepening the crescent lines, like brackets, around his mouth.
    I take it we’re not talking strictly legal, then, Lewis said, pressing on.
    Manny didn’t answer him. He took another swig from his mug, looked as if he were about to spit it out, and swallowed hard.
    He brings back fags and booze. Says everyone’s doing it. But as far as what he takes
over,
I goes blind and deaf, me. That’s all I knows.
    As Manny talked, Lewis stayed eye to eye with the photograph of Carl, wiping off a skin of surface dust to better see the boy. He stared hard at the image, as if he might read something there. It didn’t surprise him in the least to learn about Carl’s methods of making a living; and he could hardly take the moral high ground himself.

    Lewis had known Carl’s tagline before he knew the owner. It was everywhere you looked: on the electricity substation at the end of the road, a brutal carving cut into the thick green paint; penned twice on the street sign on the corner, inked on the low white wall opposite their new house.
SHARKEY
was everywhere, in blue Biro, black felt pen, penknife, and later—but only for a short while—spray paint. He didn’t immediately associate the name with Carl Finn, the boy at the other end of the street whose dad had the taxis. At the time of reading the name, it gave Lewis no other feeling than one of irritation.
    Lewis’s first actual meeting with Carl passed without incident. He’d been sent to fetch Manny by his mother; she needed a lift, and in those days Manny ran his own taxi firm. Lewis passed lots of houses with cars in the drives, but they were on blocks, or had the bonnets winged to the sky, or were lying dismantled on the scrub grass and the path. None of them looked like a taxi. Manny’s garden was a neat square of tarmac, with a polished saloon parked beneath the window.Another car was parked on the kerb. Lewis rang the bell and waited.
    The boy that answered the door was small, but already had the start of growth on his face. He was wearing just a pair of football shorts, and he didn’t even look at Lewis, who was red and sweating. Carl turned and called upstairs, one word—Dad!—and then retreated, leaving Lewis on the step. They had a dappled glass door shutting off the living-room from the hall; Lewis watched as the boy’s shape, in ripples and breakers, receded into darkness. Manny came down the stairs in his socks. It was also Lewis’s first meeting with Manny, and he would remember it, as he would remember everything about this father and son. Lewis thought Manny looked how a dad
ought
to look: a bit put out but smiling all the same, his hair uncombed and all over the place. Lewis waited on the doorstep as Manny sat on the stairs and pulled on his shoes. He gave off a smell of stale tobacco and sleep.
    Round here, said Manny, We have an ancient tradition called the Siesta. Tell your mam for me, son, tell her there are lots of lifts to be had. She’ll find them in the phone book, under Taxi Firms.
    Lewis wasn’t sure about this speech, but Manny smiled and said, I suppose your phone’s not connected yet?
    I don’t know, said Lewis, We