Judas Goat

by Stephen Hawley

STEPHEN HAWLEY. Born and raised in the Notts-Derby coalfield. History degree at Leicester . Post-graduate work at Newcastle and Northumbria. Currently employed at Sunderland University and living on Tyneside.
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A Judas Goat is a term used to describe a trained goat used at a slaughterhouse and in general animal herding. The Judas goat is trained to associate with sheep or cattle, leading them to a specific destination. In stockyards, a Judas goat will lead sheep to slaughter, while its own life is spared. Judas goats are also used to lead other animals to specific pens and on to trucks. The term Judas Goat is derived from a biblical reference to Judas Iscariot.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judas_goat

ONE

There he was. Gagsie. In the fly specked mirror behind the bar. Cutting through the Friday night drinkers in the market stall tracksuit. Run over trainers. Sweat on his top lip. Head bobbing. The whole nodding dog routine.

Prick was nervous. Very nervous. Not that you could blame him for that. Kid wasn’t used to pushing weight. He was out his depth here. Sinking fast. A little fish in a big pond and the sharks beginning to circle.

"Gagsie."

"Pez."

"Trying to sneak up on me?"

"Fuck sake, Perry…"

Perry gave him the look. Soft soap Gagsie and he’d have you over. You had to take control with a smackhead. Throw some fear.

He held the look a few seconds longer. Watched Gagsie dwindle. Motioned towards the bar. "What you fancy? Lager? Short? Or sticking to Coke?"

Gagsie hefted the rucksack in his hand "Rather get sorted than hang out drinking. Walking round King’s Cross with this kind of weight." He glanced at the toms at the far end of the jump. Cruising punters in off the peg suits. Nylon leisurewear. The chain decked ponce playing solitaire at the corner table. "Come on, Pez. Fucking hell."

"Scared?"

Gagsie flinched as he caught an elbow from a passing drinker, the tattooed forearms revealing an off duty squaddie. "Too bleeding right I am. Animals on the Cross of a night-time. Sooner we get this done the better. "

"You carrying, though, Gags? Got a tool?" It wasn’t likely Gagsie’d walk into a deal like this without some form of insurance. Bastard must have something under his Berghaus. Circumstances were reversed and he’d be packing a blade at the very least. Either that or have a support team treading on the wanker’s heels.

Nothing showed as Gagsie opened his jacket, though. Held it clear of his sides. No obvious heavies in the bar. True, there was enough action to keep the vice squad in business for the foreseeable future and he was pretty sure the two raggas by the Gents were exchanging more than just a handshake, but there was no obvious backup for the runt doing the two – step in front of him like he needed to piss. Far as he could see, Gagsie was defenceless. On his tod.

The idea of a loser like Gagsie punting five keys of brown, mind. Something off there. Especially as the prick knew him from the old days back in Notts. The whole thing smelled wrong to him somehow. Stank of a set up.

It was more a gut reaction than anything else. Ever since the tip on Gagsie, he knew he was going to regret his involvement. That somehow it would all come back on him. Bring him face to face with his past. "The gear," he said, fixing the junkie. "Tell me again where you got it, youth."

Gagsie broke eye contact. Toyed with the straps of the rucksack. "Don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. Long as the gear’s kosher, you got nothing to worry about. Have you, mate?"

"The gear being kosher’s exactly what I’m worried about, Gags. Small-timer like you comes into 100 grand worth of smack and the alarm bells go off. I’d feel a lot better if I knew this wasn’t some kind of rip off. Some kind of scam." He moved closer. Used his bulk to intimidate. "So is it some kind of scam? You looking to turn me over? That what you doing, you prick?"

Gagsie’s eyes widened. "Come on, Perry. I wouldn’t try and con a mate. I mean, I know you from the old days, don’t I, youth?"

"You know me from the old days. Know what I’d do if you had me over."

"What can I say, Pez? It’s on the up and up. Swear to God the deal’s legit."

"On your mother, you lying cunt. I know what the old woman means to you. Swear on your mother, alright?"

"I swear on my mother. And leave my old woman out of this, Naylor. What we into here’s got nothing to do with my mam."

Perry blinked. Switched on his smile. "Okay, little man. Cool your jets. I believe you. Thousands, wouldn’t, but -" He cut his head towards the side door of the pub. "The alley round the back. We got the wheelie bins for cover. Gap both ends if we have to make one. I done business there before. If that’s okay with you, Gags. "

Gagsie swung the bag over his shoulder. "Ready when you are, Perry. Come on, big man. Let’s do business."

Perry’s adrenalin kicked in as they entered the alleyway. Everything stood out sharper, the sounds and colours more intense. As if someone had tightened the focus. Raised the controls on a TV set.

He took in the yellow wash of the sodium lamps on the wet pavement. The darker pools of shadow in the alleyway. Heard the passing drone of the traffic on the street. A jungle bassline from a car stereo. Bohemian Rhapsody on the jukebox. Smelled the sour-sweet stink of garbage as they halted in the shadow of a wheelie bin. Sized each other up.

Same kind of set up as a closing time ruck. Or judging by the spent condoms littering the tarmac, the discarded G-string, a closing time bunk-up. Not much difference really. Not as far as Gagsie was concerned. Couple more minutes and the little smackhead was going to be well and truly fucked.

"What’s a matter?" Perry said, as Gagsie’s head ticked from side to side. "Making sure your crew’s in position? Trying to box me in?"

Gagsie stilled his head. "On my life, Perry. Just you and me, son. Swear to fucking God, right? Swear on my mother."

"So what you hanging about for? I got to wait all night to see the goods?"

Gagsie shuffled his fingertips together. "The money, Pez. Don’t like to ask, but -"

"The gear, Gagsie. Show me the gear or I go back inside. Finish my drink."

Gagsie wilted. Unfastened the rucksack. He handed Perry a plastic bag of powder. Flinched as the bigger man opened a lock knife. "Jesus Wept -"

Perry slit the end of the bag. "Fuck’s sake, Gagsie." He sifted a few grains of powder onto a section of kitchen foil. Ran his Zippo beneath it. Bared his teeth as the powder blackened. That was the shit, alright.

He handed the bag back to Gagsie. Fished a roll of tape from his pocket. Cut off a length with the lock knife. "Here," he said, closing the blade. "Tape that for me and I’ll sort you the money."

Gagsie looked righteous. "Told you it was kosher," he said, leaving his dabs on the bag.

Oh yeah. Shit was kosher, alright. He’d need a proper lab analysis to know the strength of the gear, but it was definitely the real McCoy. All he needed to do now was signal the back up team.

He waited until Gagsie sealed the bag. Twisted his earlobe.

Nothing.

He stepped out the shadows. Checked the kerb crawlers trawling the street. Twisted his ear again. Gagsie crooked his head at him.

"The money, Pez?"

Perry gave his ear a last tug. Shrugged. Produced a document wallet from beneath his leather. "Sure, Gagsie. The money." He counted out his show money, marked fifties and hundreds in thousand pound wads. Forked it across to the smackhead. The backup team better make their move before Gagsie did one or he’d be right in the shit. He might technically be covered for the hundred grand, but that wouldn’t stop the accounts section stringing him by the balls if the bastard went walkabout…

And then a searchlight flooded the alley. "Armed police. Down on the floor. You’re both under arrest."

Perry turned on the paralysed Gagsie. "You bastard. You set me up. You fucking set me up, you grass."

The little man stuttered. "Pe – Christ, no, mate – I sw -"

Perry wrapped his hand around the knife handle and swung, sending Gagsie arse over tit into the advancing coppers. He hoofed the smaller man in the nuts as he tried to scramble to his feet, then took it on his toes, trading blows with his colleagues as he made for the car out front. A "we’re supposed to be on the same side, you lairy cunt," as his fist connected and the taste of blood in his mouth as he swallowed a punch, then he was vaulting into the front seat of the Audi and laying rubber down the main drag, his fellow actors sucking exhaust fumes as he stomped the accelerator. Tooled out the Cross.

He slowed as he passed the McDonald’s opposite the station. Killed the engine. Got on the blower. "Chief? It’s me. How’d it go? Get the gear?"

"Got the gear, Perry. Cash and all."

"Nice one. Think he made me?"

The Chief laughed. "Wanker’s more scared of you than he is of us. Offer him protection and he’ll cough his supplier."

"Sweet."

The Chief cleared his throat. "You make a good crook, Perry. Perhaps too good. The tear up with the arresting officers."

"What about it?"

"Slater. You bust the poor twat’s nose."

"Want me to break cover?"

"No, but -"

"But tone it down a bit. That what you saying?"

"Well -"

"Listen. Only way I survive out here is by becoming a drug dealer. Play – acting’s no good. I got to forget I’m a police officer. I got to look like a drug dealer, act like a drug dealer, think like a drug dealer. They suss I’m a phoney, suss I’m a ringer and that’s it, I’m brown bread. No coming back from a bullet, is there?"

The Chief sighed. "Okay, Perry. Point taken. I see where you coming from, just -"

"No just about it. They know I’m a copper and that’s it. I’m gone. End of. No fooling around. You get me, Chief?"

"I get you, Perry."

"Alright, then." He caught his reflection in the rear view mirror. Touched his lip. Smiled as his fingers came away bloody. "Slater. Going to cause a fuss?"

"Slater’s a good bloke. Wouldn’t cause trouble for another copper. Though I’d keep out his way a couple a week if I were you, Perry."

Perry studied his fingertips. "Whatever," he said.

"Fair enough, then. Come in and we’ll debrief you. Sort out the paperwork. And after that we’ll tie one on, okay? Celebrate a job well done."

"Sounds a top idea to me, boss man."

"You’re a good undercover, Perry. Just - try not to get carried away, alright, son?"

Perry switched off the phone. He glimpsed his reflection again as he dropped the car into gear and, for a moment, just one moment, almost failed to recognize the face staring back at him from the glass.

He shook himself as he cut into the traffic. Tuned into Kiss. Maxed the volume. Good? He was the bleeding best.

TWO

The estate was deserted as he nosed the car towards home later that night. No kids on the street corners or banging hardcore. No barking dogs. Domestics kicking off. It was a lot different from the inner city streets he’d grown up on. A hell of a lot different. Better too, he supposed. Calmer. Safer. It was what you aspired to as you moved up in the world. Peace. Quiet. Respectability.

More and more often, though, his stomach curdled as he pulled into the driveway outside the red brick semi. Took in the identikit properties lining the crescent. The uniform attached garage. Uniform strip of turf. He knew it was what he was supposed to want out of life, but somehow it wasn’t enough anymore. Shit, it never had been.

Canned laughter sounded as he locked up behind him. Set the alarm. "You shouldn’t have waited up," he said, as he joined Claire in the lounge. "I know you got work in the morning, love."

"I can’t settle until you’re in. I told you that before." She recoiled as he bent to kiss her. "Jesus, you smell like a brewery. I thought you were working a case."

"I was. We stopped off afterwards for a couple of drinks, though. You need to unwind after you been on a job."

"All this time I sat here worrying and you were enjoying yourself in the pub. I don’t know why I bother. I really don’t"

"I wasn’t out there grafting for nothing, you know. What you think pays for the roof over your head? It wasn’t for me risking my arse out there, you wouldn’t have no plasma screen TV to look at of an evening. No holiday in the Med every year. Golf in the driveway. Ice on your fucking finger." He gestured at the solitaire engagement ring as he thumbed the remote. Lowered the sound on the box. "You think I’m out there for pleasure? Think I do this for kicks? That what you think, Claire?"

"You seem to get more pleasure out of it than you do out of my company these days, anyway. And you’re not the only one as works for a living, you know. What do you think I do in that classroom all day? Play hopscotch with the kids or something?"

She might as well for all the good it did them, if his old school had been anything to go by. And play hopscotch, for Christ sake. How many kids played hopscotch these days? Twoc cars or deal trips, what he’d seen of the little bastards when he’d picked her up from work. "I’m going to have a nightcap," he said, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. Shrugging his leather. "Want to join me, duck?"

"I think you’ve had enough for one night, don’t you, Perry?"

Like she knew exactly where to hit him. Which buttons to push. "I told you already. I had a hard day. I need to unwind." He rested his hand on the door handle. Rubbed his thumb along the brass. "You know, I been in the house five minutes now and you never asked me how the job went. If we made an arrest or not. Be nice if my girlfriend actually took an interest in my work sometime, you know what I’m saying?"

And if she knew how to push his buttons, he knew exactly how to push hers.

"Oh that’s rich, that is, coming from you. That’s bloody priceless, that. You ever once ask me the kind of day I had, sweetheart? You ever once ask me that in all the time we’ve been together? Well, did you?"

"No. I never did, did I?" Sat back beside her. "Look, I’m sorry, love. Just the kind of work I do, it kind of – I dunno, obsesses you. Five o’clock and forget about it till the morning don’t come into it. You take it home with you. Carry it around with you. It’s – I dunno, Claire. It’s hard to explain, like…"

"I know, Perry. I know the kind of job you do. It’s just – Christ, I never seem to see you anymore these days. We just pass in the doorway now. And when you are with me, its like you’re not really there. Like your head’s someplace else all the time. Back at the station house or out on the street. Instead of home here with me. Where it belongs."

She was right, of course. The job was more than just the way he paid the mortgage. Paid the bills. It was the way he got his thrills. His kicks. The straight world of TV and in – laws and shopping centres just wasn’t enough for him. Staring at the box all night like most blokes his age would have him climbing the walls after a couple of days. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that, without the lifeline provided by the street, the suburban lifestyle would smother him by degrees.

Claire, though. He didn’t want to lose her. When he’d first been drifting in London after – what happened in Notts – the elfin blonde with the dancer’s figure had been the only thing kept him on the straight and narrow. Stopped him self-destructing. Living in bed sits, spending every night in the nearest pub as he tried to forget what happened, his life was without purpose, drifting downward, until she’d came along. It was Claire that had given him a focus. Something to organize his life around. Shit, it had been Claire suggested the Met to him in the first place, which was ironic considering the way things were between them due to the job. "I’ve got a lot of leave accumulated, duck. Lot of leave. And the bank account’s looking healthy at the moment. What say we get away for a few days? Have some quality time together. Chill. Relax. Get to know each other again. You know, the way things where between us when we first got together."

Her cheek dimpled. "Half term’s coming up in a couple of weeks. You want me to get on the web and book us a place for then?"

Perry hesitated. "Bit soon, innit, duck?"

The dimple vanished. " ‘Bit soon?’ It’s nearly three weeks away. Why, when where you thinking of, Perry? The summer break? Xmas time?"

"Just – not right now, okay? I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get away for the next two, three weeks. Something to do with the job -"

She came off the couch. "Screw the bloody job for once. What about thinking of us, for a change? What about thinking of me, eh, Perry? What about thinking of me?"

"It’s just something that came up tonight. At the debriefing. Should only take a couple a weeks if things go as planned."

"Two weeks out of my life. Two weeks when I don’t see hide nor hair of you. Or when I do see you, you’re so caught up in the case you don’t even know I’m alive."

He pressed his thumbs together. "This’ important, Claire."

"And I’m not? Is that what you’re saying?" She folded his hand in hers. Squeezed his fingers. "I’m not being selfish asking for my boyfriend back, am I? Not being unreasonable? All I want is to share you with the Force, Perry. All I want is a part of you when you’re not at work, but you don’t even seem willing to give me that, these days. Do you, lover?"

"Jesus Christ, Claire. Come on, duck."

"It doesn’t have to be this way, Perry. There are other ways of making a living. Jobs you can work nine to five."

"Such as?"

"With my dad, for instance. A job on the site. Start at the bottom and work your way up." Her voice grew eager. "He’s always thought well of you, Perry. I’m sure he’d give you a chance if I asked him, you know."

Yeah, he was sure he would. He liked her old man too, a successful builder with a knack for securing government contracts and finishing on deadline. Not a bad bloke when you caught him off duty. Had a drink with him. Not a bad bloke at all. Thing was, he’d worked construction when he first left school. Laying pipe in the middle of winter, driving a shovel in the rain was one of the things made him appreciate being a copper.

Besides, working for her dad would change the dynamic between the two of them. Put her on top. Him under the thumb. "I already got a job," he said, loosing his hand. "What this’ all about, innit, love? Or had you forgot?"

She stood. Glared down at him. Her bottom lip quivered but her voice was firm when she spoke. "What we had doesn’t seem to matter to you anymore, Perry. All you seem to see me as is a cook and housekeeper. Somewhere to empty your nuts when you’re horny. It’s not enough for me, though. Not nearly enough. I need more than that from a relationship. A whole lot more. And if you’re not prepared to give me what I need…"

"That an ultimatum, love?"

She turned her head away. "All I want is you to let me back in. Share yourself with me. Talk to me, for Christ sake, like a normal human being."

"I can’t talk to you about a lot of the stuff I do. You know that, Claire."

"I’m going to blab to the press or something? Spill my guts to the mafiosa in the staff room?"

Fuck it. She’d asked for this. He didn’t like what he was about to do, but he had to get his point across. Show her what time it was. Make her see the way things were. "Funny you should mention guts. Reminds me of the first body I saw on the job. It was a drunk. Drunk as got hit by a train. There’s thirty foot of intestine in the human body, according to the ambulance man, and most of that had been dragged down the track by the wheels. They had to wind it onto a stick to clear the line. Making candyfloss, my mate in the ambulance called it. Making fucking candyfloss. Like the bloke in the fairground, you know what I’m saying?"

"Jesus. Jesus Christ."

"And that was impersonal. Just an accident. When you see what people can do to each other deliberately. Out of spite. Hate. Or because they enjoy it." The sex cases he’d worked, young girls and children savaged, torn apart for a moment’s pleasure. Babies systematically beaten to death by their parents over weeks, months of their short lives whilst partners and neighbours did nothing. Parents killed by children. Husbands by wives. Girlfriends by lovers.

As a member of the Force, you saw and experienced things that no sane, rational human being should be exposed to and it changed you. Changed you for the worse. There was no way you could, no way you should share that with people outside the world of crime. Thing was, it put a barrier between you and the people you loved. There was no way you could let them fully into the cockpit you inhabited. Sometimes it seemed the only people who saw society the way you saw it, the only ones outside the Force who understood, were the scumbags you were employed to nick. Definitely not the educated, middle-class girl that stood before him with the horrified expression on her face.

And even before he joined the Force. What happened back home. What happened before he came down South. One thing in his life he could never share with her. Share with anyone.

A great sadness welled up inside him as he looked at Claire. A feeling of something good slipping away. Something he’d never be able to recover. "I need that drink. You got some cans with the shopping?"

"In the fridge."

"Sweet." He tried to think of something to say that would make things better between them. That would make things whole again. Nothing came to mind, though. Nothing at all. "I’ll be up later. Don’t lie awake for me, alright, duck?"

He sat at the kitchen table with a can of lager as she finished in the bathroom. Prepared for bed. There was something unbearably poignant about the everyday domestic sounds of the shower. The toilet flushing. The sound of her footsteps as she moved to the bedroom. The warmth and comfort of domestic life after the reality of the streets. He didn’t want to lose it, but somehow he knew it was going to come to an end for him.

Perhaps it was best he was going to be away for a couple of weeks. Perhaps it would give them both a breathing space. Give things a chance to heal. And if not – shit, perhaps it was the best way to break things off between them. To let their relationship dissolve as painlessly as possible while he concentrated on the job.

Especially after the shit the Chief had dropped in his lap that evening. The follow up to the bust down the Cross. "We had a word with the muppet on the bench and he’s going to play ball," the Chief had said, as they sat after hours in the local Irish bar, their usual spot for a post bust piss up. "We’re going to bail Gagsie. See where he runs to."

"Put a tail on him, you mean?"

The Chief bobbed his chin. Raised his voice above the sound of clinking glasses. Foster and Allen on the tape player behind the bar. "Shouldn’t be difficult. He spewed the lot when he started to cluck and we promised to cut him loose."

"So what’s the story, then?"

"Turns out the kid was working for a firm up the Midlands. You know, buying off the Turks. Running it up the M1 to Notts."

"Wouldn’t have thought any firm worth a pound a piss would a hired Gagsie to do anything more than sweep the floor for them."

The Chief hiccoughed. Checked the neighbouring tables were empty before continuing. "The regular bloke got lifted and they needed a last minute replacement. Turns out the main face knew Gagsie from years back and there was no one else available. So…"

"So Gagsie makes the buy and decides to go into business for himself."

"That’s about the size of it. Twat was looking to double his money way he’d stepped on the gear. Until he ran into you, that is" The Chief rescued his pint as the glass collector cleared their empties. Sank the dregs. Belched at his receding back. "Anyway, we cut Gagsie loose with fifty grand’s worth of marked money. Promised him a suspended sentence if he plays ball and a ten stretch if he don’t. Sent him back to his boss."

Perry compressed his lips. "You’d trust a junkie like that?"

"We got lockstep surveillance on him and he knows it. Besides, one hand washes the other. He proves he can be trusted on this run and he gets to make another. And whatever he makes for himself on the next run, we turn a blind eye to. What we told the prick, anyway."

"I dunno, Chief. Gagsie’s a wild card. You can’t trust a smackhead. You should a stuck him in the witness box and have done with it."

The Chief peered into his empty glass. Took a gander at the bar. "Why go for small change when you can scoop the pot? Gagsie does one and we lose a small time dealer, that’s all. We already got the intelligence from him and five keys of smack. I made sure we’re covered if the money goes walkabout. Nothing to lose, really." He fidgeted a note from his pocket. Nodded to the landlord. "We do this right, though, and we get to nail the importers at this end and the Notts boys at the other. Could be a promotion for the blokes involved if we play our cards right. A step up the ladder if our luck’s in. Want a refill, Perry?"

Nottingham. He realized now why the boss was laying things out for him. Shit was strictly on a need to know basis on a case like this. It had to be that way when blokes were working undercover. Which meant… "Bottle of Becks," he said, skating the empty towards the Chief. "And get me a chaser while you’re at it."

"Double, mate?"

Perry nodded. "I think I’ll need it."

He stared at the can in his hands. Emptied it down the sink. Nottingham. It had been – what, five years since he’d last set foot in the place. Five years where he’d systematically set about forgetting what had happened there. The life he’d led before he fled his hometown for London.

The floorboards creaked as Claire moved around the bedroom. The thought of joining her scared him more than conducting a drug deal ever had. For five years he’d worked at erasing the man he had been, building a career, a relationship, but down, deep down inside, he’d always known he was living a lie. Now, it seemed, he was going to have to face that lie. To return to his past and face it. To admit that what he had with Claire, like the life it was built upon, was nothing but a sham.

###

Copyright © Stephen Hawley 2008

Read Stephen Hawley's review of Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men