Die Hard Mod Read Free

away.
    ‘Look luv… the peelers have been wantin’ to pin something on Trevor for years and they’re bound to have his DNA on file. If their forensic team are any fuckin’ use at all, they’ll be able to get the evidence they need. It’s best if I get outta town and lay low for a while, you understand?’
    Suzie nodded.
    ‘Get yerself over to yer ma’s, Suzie… a girl needs her ma at a time like this, eh?’
    Steve gave Suzie a parting hug and got out of her flat, fast.

 
    4
     
    When Steve got to the end of his street, he checked to see if anyone he needed to avoid was hanging around his house but it just felt like a typical Sunday night. The Maguires’ Jack Russell was barking his head off at nothing in particular and he could see the old couple from Number 38 on their way to the evening service while Sammy Armstrong, his alcoholic next door neighbour, staggered home from the off-licence with a few cans of Tennents Super. Steve sauntered up to his front door, had one last glance around the street and let himself in. He went up to his bedroom, threw some clothes and toiletries into a hold-all, switched all the lights off and split.
    On the Shore Road , Steve hopped onto a bus to take him into the city centre. Aside from the type of quizzical looks his Mod appearance usually attracted, no-one on the bus seemed to notice how jittery he was. His heart was racing but anxiety helped focus his mind. He had to get out of Belfast but where was he going to go? He had a cousin he was close to in Edinburgh but he was married with three kids one of whom was severely disabled so he couldn’t imagine he’d be welcomed with open arms there. There was his mate Tim who’d immigrated to Toronto but the air fare would wipe out half his savings. But at least tonight he’d be able to stay with Johnny Bell, one of his Mod associates who put on a low-key 60s night upstairs at The Garrick Bar on the last Sunday of every month. Johnny had a decent-sized flat in the bohemian area around Queen’s University in the south side of the city. Nice and civilised and not the sort of place that he’d be likely to bump into Trevor and Donzo.
    Steve got off the bus at the City Hall and when he arrived at The Garrick, there were about a dozen of the usual suspects trying to out-do each other in 60s retro style. Wee Davy looked pretty sharp in his blue three-button mohair suit set off with a paisley scarf and a French crop haircut. There were a couple of heavily-made-up girls with Mary Quant hairstyles and skimpy psychedelic-patterned dresses but they were a little too podgy to carry the look off with much success.
    Johnny was behind the decks playing Georgie Fame’s Somebody Stole My Thunder and with the kind of lean frame that best suits Mod fashion, he looked the coolest of the bunch with a dark green cashmere polo-neck and a haircut modelled on Jeff Beck in 1968. He beckoned Steve to come over and join him and hugged him as the tune blasted out and a smattering of Mods shuffled nonchalantly around the dance-floor.
    ‘Jesus Steve, how are ye hombre?’ said Johnny. ‘I heard all about Doug. The whole crew are really shook up about it. Ye missed a wee announcement I made earlier. I know it might not mean much but I just dedicated tonight to him. The girls have been bawling their eyes out, so they have.’
    The tender concern in Johnny’s eyes made Steve feel like crying himself but he needed to keep it together.
    ‘I’m all the better for seein’ you mate… can’t face being in the house alone tonight so hope its okay if I crash at yours.’
    Johnny hugged him again.
    ‘Nae bother amigo… it’s the least I can do.’
    Steve let Johnny get on with his DJ duties and spent the rest of the night in a corner at the back, cradling his Guinness as each of the Mods took turns to come over and offer their condolences. The place filled out with students and random drinkers and as the dancing intensified to the sound of The Spencer Davis