I shook him by his shoulder gently and then again‚ a little firmer. Still no movement.
How much jail time am I looking at? Am I going to get raped in prison? Am I going to rape in prison? Mum is going to be so disappointed in me. I blinked away my thoughts as I saw movement. Relief washed over me as he stirred and lifted his head and took in the surroundings. I followed his train of thought as he concluded that he was better off staying put and playing dead.
Relieved‚ I left him to it. I jogged over to Parvez‚ who was slumped along the back wall. I helped him to his feet and he winced as if his body had just recalled the kicking that the two girls had inflicted. I made a mental note to take the piss out of him about that at some point. He put his arm around my shoulders as we gingerly moved across the car park and down three flights of stairs. I pushed open the door and looked at the empty parking bay where‚ once upon a time‚ my car had been parked.
My beautiful BMW. The beautiful black leather bucket seats that I had set just so. The crystal clear six-by-nine Blaupunkt speakers. The Pioneer stereo that I’d just had fitted‚ and all my burnt MP3 CDs‚ for which I had spent hours painstakingly selecting just the right songs.
Gone.
My trusty rucksack containing the remainder of Silas’ gear.
Gone.
Seven grand of Silas’ money.
Gone.
10
I was sat at the back on the top deck of an almost empty one-eleven bus on my way to see Silas. I spent the journey nursing a cut above my right ear with a used tissue‚ trying to piece together the blur of stupidity that had just taken place. I cleared the condensation on the window with my sleeve and looked outside. I was three more stops from Silas‚ my supplier and employer and all round fucking psychopath.
There is only one way to describe Silas. And that’s in detail.
At first glance you would not know how to pigeonhole Silas. He dressed preppy‚ which suited his slight frame‚ but lived gangster. Thin-framed‚ black‚ half-moon reading glasses usually hung down from around his pigeon neck on a thin gold chain. Silas had a penchant for V-neck sweaters in vibrant colours‚ always worn over a crisp white shirt with his initials embroidered on the collar. His short dark hair was always neatly side-parted‚ and you would never notice a difference in growth. His trousers were relaxed and patterned‚ the type that wouldn’t look out of place hitting balls on the green. On his feet you would find delicate suede slip-ons with tassels. He lived in a house. A very big house. In the suburbs. Double fronted with enough space in his drive to comfortably park five cars‚ which was just as well as he owned five cars. He lived alone. Just him and his cook and his security and his hairdresser. There were always girls hanging around too. He clearly had a type. Tall‚ Amazonian‚ muscular looking girls‚ tottering around in impossibly high heels and little more. Rumour had it that Silas had his own private strip club in the basement. It was the closest thing I’d seen to the Playboy mansion. But Hugh Hefner he was not. Silas looked expensive and Silas smelt expensive and he drove and he lived expensive. He was polite and well-spoken and he controlled‚ what? Maybe sixty per cent of any narcotic sold in West London. It all went through him. Weed‚ Skunk‚ Coke‚ H‚ Uppers‚ Downers‚ Lefties‚ Righties‚ Viagra‚ Valium and any other mind-bending‚ thought-invoking‚ impotence-zapping substance that you could think of. Also‚ and this was just whispers‚ but I’d heard that he had a small arsenal tucked away somewhere. And when I say small‚ I mean huge. Enough to make Rambo blush.
I peered out of the bus window as the Odeon on the high street slipped past me. The so-called revenge attacks didn’t seem to have hit Kingston. There were clubbers and night-goers and general happiness in full effect.
I was relieved to be away from Khan and Parvez and into relative peace. Fucking jokers with their fucking half-arsed plan. And who suffered? Me‚ that’s who. And if I didn’t have my story straight then there was a whole lot more of suffering coming my way. If Silas so much as had an inkling that I was blagging‚ then I guess I would soon be able to confirm whether he did indeed have a huge arsenal‚ as it would be pointing at my fucking head. So bullshit to one side‚ I decided to come clean.
The bus stopped. It had to‚ it was the last stop. End of its journey‚ and quite possibly the end of mine.
11
Big‚ burly and black is how I would describe Staples‚ the sentry that stood guard outside Silas’ place. He’d earned his nickname for his penchant for using a stapler in a somewhat unorthodox manner – eyes‚ mouth‚ ears‚ nostrils and any other orifice that needed stapling shut. He was a tough motherfucker. Tough enough to scare away any would be chancers‚ and tough enough not to think a jacket necessary‚ even though‚ through his tight T-shirt‚ his nipples told a different story.
‘Staples‚’ I said‚ smiling brightly. ‘I’m getting cold just looking at you.’ He smirked at me and we carried out a complicated handshake.
‘You’re late‚ Jay‚’ Staples said. ‘Gaffer been waiting for you for time.’
I checked the time on my phone. Past midnight‚ just. I looked up at Staples and tried to gauge Silas’ mood through him.
‘Car trouble‚ man‚’ I said‚ and shrugged nonchalantly.
‘The fuck happened to your face?’ I touched the side of my head and felt blood seeping from it and instantly felt light-headed. ‘I hope you haven’t been dripping claret all over the fucking drive‚ Jay.’ I took out the already bloody tissue from my pocket and held it to my head. ‘That’s disgusting‚ Jay. Hang on.’ He took out a bulky walkie-talkie from his back pocket and spoke into it. ‘Serenity. Get your beautiful behind into the hallway and bring your first-aid kit.’ Staples moved his bulk away from the door and let me into the hallway. ‘Wait here. Serenity will see to you… And Jay?’
‘What?’
‘Smarten the fuck up next time. You’re bringing down the house prices.’
I was sat in the most supremely comfortable grand armchair. Somewhere in the background Sinatra was telling me that he did it his way. Two perfectly formed‚ cosmetically enhanced breasts hovered precariously‚ inches away from my face‚ with a thin silver chain and pendant that read Serenity nestled between them. The keeper of the breasts fussed around my wound as she gently and expertly applied a small bandage to it.
‘There‚’ she said‚ admiring her handiwork. ‘Try not to touch it‚ you don’t want to infect it now.’ She strutted away and my eyes tracked her until she tottered out of view.
‘Isn’t she just a peach?’
I followed the voice and realised that Silas was sitting directly opposite me in an even grander and more ostentatious armchair than mine. He was in a black robe with a gold trim‚ parted just enough that I could see his hairless bird chest. One leg was up on the chair‚ with his bare foot planted on a velvet cushion as he cleaned out his toes with the blade of a nail cutter. Once satisfied‚ he blew the top of the blade towards me and dropped his leg to the floor‚ his foot finding comfort in a blue suede loafer. He crossed his legs and his silk maroon pyjama rode up to reveal a pale white ankle.
‘Silas. Sorry‚ I didn’t notice you‚’ I said‚ and instantly regretted it.
‘I don’t blame you‚ Jay. Serenity has that effect. As beautiful as she is caring‚’ Silas said‚ fondly. If he was offended‚ he didn’t show it. My finger reached for the side of my head. ‘Don’t mess with it. Let it heal naturally. You do not want to get on Serenity’s bad side.’
I put my hand down on my lap and tried to look comfortable.
‘I met her when I was getting my appendix taken out‚’ Silas continued. ‘As I was lying on the hospital bed coming to‚ there she was‚ standing over me. Larger than life and as beautiful as the Devil could have made her.’ Silas’ gaze flitted away from me‚ lost somewhere in the distance. ‘Naturally I offered her a job and I provided her with a cute little uniform and all the kit a nurse could require. Her husband decided to demonstrate his displeasure by one night turning up here‚ unannounced. Unfortunately at the time she was going way beyond the call of duty. Staples did what Staples does best‚ and he left with his eyes and mouth stapled shut.’
Silas smiled.
I smiled back.
‘Jay‚’ he said.
‘Yes‚’ I said.
‘Where the fuck is my money?’
Here we go.
Even though I was planning to go with the truth‚ I had rehearsed it in a manner that would buy me some sympathy. A ticking off maybe but ultimately a shit happens response from him.
‘Now‚ I’m no Sherlock Holmes.’ Silas said. ‘Shit‚ Jay‚ I’m not even Watson. But I didn’t see you pull up in your car and I don’t see a bag. I’m pretty sure that you haven’t got my cash or my gear in your pockets. So I surmise… No‚ I deduce that you are empty handed. Feel free to correct me.’
I just sat there. I was speechless. I was without the power of speech. Elmsleigh Car Park‚ there was a brawl. Khan and Parvez dragged me there. No‚ no‚ start with the mosque. There was an attack at my local mosque and…
‘Speak‚ motherfucker!’ Silas said‚ shattering my reverie.
‘My car… It… It got jacked‚’ I stuttered‚ well aware of the spittle flying out of my mouth.
‘So? What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward closer to me‚ resting his elbows on his knees. He smelt good. Expensive. ‘Unless‚ of course you left my shit in your car‚ unattended.’
Unattended? Yeah. Doors open? Yeah. Keys in the ignition? Oh yeah.
My silence said all that had to be said. Silas watched me‚ amusement in his eyes‚ waiting for me to respond.
I opened my mouth to apologise. Silas narrowed his eyes in anticipation.
I thought better and closed my mouth. Silas clenched his jaw in irritation.
He looked above and behind me. I turned my head a touch to the side and I could feel the presence of Staples‚ standing directly behind my armchair.
‘How much?’ Silas asked‚ just above a whisper‚ loaded with understated menace
‘All of it‚’ I said‚ my voice feeble.
‘Cash? Gear?’
‘Both.’ His eyebrows told me to elaborate. ‘Seven grand in cash and about two grand worth of green.’
‘Ten grand?’
‘Nine‚’ I said‚ correcting him.
‘Ten grand‚’ Silas said. ‘Would you like me to get you a calculator?’
‘Ten grand‚’ I said‚ defeated.
Sinatra had given up the ghost and the room was filled with an eerie hiss. Silas stood up and tightened the belt to his robe accentuating his non-existent waist. He paced up and down in front of me‚ four steps one way‚ then four steps the other‚ hands knotted behind his back‚ his suede loafers padding softly on the carpet.
‘The thing is‚ Jay‚ I like you. Always have. You’ve been a good servant to me.’
Servant!
‘But I just can’t let this go. Do you know why I can’t let this go?’ Silas asked.
‘Principles.’
‘Jackpot‚ Jay… Principles. The cornerstone of every successful business.’
‘I’ll pay you back‚ Silas. I just need time. If you just give me some more gear‚ I’ll have the ten back to you and then some in no time.’
Silas‚ still pacing in front of me‚ shook his head‚ barely a movement‚ but it was clear I wasn’t leaving there with fresh supplies.
‘Okay‚ fine. That’s fair‚’ I said‚ to appease. ‘I’ll find another way.’ There was no other way. I had nothing. I couldn’t even sell my car and I couldn’t wait for the insurance money to come through because I hadn’t got around to insuring it. ‘I just need time‚ Silas.’ I repeated. ‘I can get a job and pay you in instalments.’
Silas grinned. I caught a flash of his too-white teeth. ‘Instalments?’
‘Yeah. I can sort you out a G a month‚ every month‚ without fail.’
‘So… A grand a month‚’ Silas counted ten on his fingers. ‘For ten months and we’ll be square? Is that what you’re proposing?’ A twinkle in his eye. Hope in mine.
I nodded. Even if he agreed‚ it was going to be impossible to come up with that kind of loot without dealing.
‘I tell you what‚ Jay‚’ I heard nasty phlegm rattling around as he cleared his throat. ‘You have until next Friday. Midnight.’
That’s when I fucked up.
‘C’mon Silas‚ be fair.’ Silas stopped pacing sharply. He turned on his heel and faced me. My words seemed to echo around the room.
Silas took his eyes off me and glanced behind me‚ and before I had a chance to turn I was being lifted off my seat by my hair‚ pulled sideways over the arm of the chair. I scrunched my face in pain as Staples tightened his grip. I could feel cold metal around my ear as a stapler was clamped around it. Before I could react‚ Silas was on top of me‚ straddling me‚ laughing manically. He had the blade of the nail clippers in my nose‚ stretching my nostril. I stopped wriggling and froze. I didn’t want my ear pierced or my nose sliced.
‘What did you say to me‚ boy?’ Silas hissed.
‘Nothing‚’ I said‚ as the stench of toenail clippings reached my brain and his erection dug into my chest. I wanted to vomit.
‘That’s what I thought‚’ Silas said‚ as he dismounted. Staples released the grip on my hair and moved the stapler away.
I was breathing hard. Silas took his seat opposite me.
‘Why are you still here?’
12
Kingsley Parker walked out of his apartment for the third time in a matter of minutes. He had got to the end of the quiet‚ leafy road which he hated‚ when he realised that he’d forgotten his phone and had to turn back. With his phone in his possession‚ Parker had got as far as South Kensington tube station‚ when he once again had to turn back‚ having realised that the details of his destination‚ haphazardly scribbled down on a scrap piece of paper‚ were still sitting on his bedside table‚ under the year-old bottle of vodka‚ seal unbroken‚ that acted as his security blanket. More time wasted. Parker was going to be late.
The Tube journey was uneventful and he bided his time eyeing up passengers for signs of sinister nervousness. It wasn’t his intention; it was his training. His knee jackhammered and his stall-bought coffee threatened to spill as he questioned himself and his ability to carry out his job. The same thoughts as yesterday. The same thoughts as every day.
Parker arrived at Church House Conference Centre to find Dr Thomas Gladstone sitting in a booth in the canteen reading a file. He cleared his throat and the doctor looked up.
‘Hello‚ Chalky‚’ Gladstone said. They shook hands and Parker slid into the seat opposite him. Parker squirmed at the mere mention of his nickname. Gladstone picked up on this immediately‚ and gave the slightest nod of acknowledgement.
‘I am sorry that you’ve had to meet me here but I have lectures all week. Needs must‚ hey? Shall I be mother?’ he said‚ pouring the tea for them. ‘Drop or an ocean?’ he asked‚ holding up a small jug of milk.
‘Somewhere in between. Thanks.’ Parker watched him pour. He had to force his knee to stop hammering.
Gladstone brought the cup to his lips and blew the steam away as he eyed Parker. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah‚ I’m fine‚’ Parker lied‚ shrinking under Gladstone’s gaze. Gladstone let it slide.
‘So? Small talk or shall we get straight to it?’ Gladstone asked‚ trying to lighten the mood.
Parker said nothing.
‘Straight to it it is then‚’ Gladstone said‚ as he placed the file on the table and put his hands over it. ‘Why him?’
‘We’ve had watch on a few candidates but there’s something about him. He seems as comfortable on the streets as he does in the mosque‚ able to change his dynamic as required.’
‘I see you haven’t lost the old instincts.’
Parker shrugged. Unwilling to commit.
‘Do you not think that one of our own would be more suitable?’ Gladstone asked.
‘No. I don’t. He is well known in the community and he has ties to Sutton Mosque. I think the risk factor of him getting made is slim.’
‘Whereas our guys may stick out?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’ Parker nodded towards the file. ‘What did you think? I realise that you’ve only had a few hours to look at the file‚ but what are your impressions?’
‘It doesn’t matter. A few hours or a few days‚ my reading would be the same.’
Parker waited for Gladstone to elaborate. He didn’t.
‘And?’ Parker was getting tired of prompting him.
‘He’s perfect‚’ Gladstone exclaimed. ‘Or he’s all wrong.’
What the bloody hell does that mean? Parker thought‚ and he gave Gladstone a look that said exactly that.
‘You want to use him as an asset‚ but will he play ball? Lord knows you have enough on him to persuade him. Trousers well and truly around his ankles and with his fingers in the cookie jar‚’ Gladstone said. ‘He is impressionable and if handled correctly he can be willing. But therein lies the problem.’
‘How so?’ Parker asked‚ rubbing his temples. This was not what he wanted to hear.
‘Willing and impressionable. Two very significant words. Given the right environment he can be willed and impressed upon in the other direction. Take him or any young man for that matter and put him in a hostile situation. Training camps‚ lectures‚ Imams‚ weapons‚ jihadists. Bonds are formed‚ lessons are learnt and seeds are planted. How do we know that he won’t deviate?’
‘With all due respect‚ Dr Gladstone‚ that’s what I’m asking you. It’s your area of expertise. Do you think that he could double cross?’ Parker said‚ the hint of desperation in his voice evident and he hated himself for it. Gladstone smiled passively.
‘Look‚ Parker. I have successfully profiled rapists‚ serial killers and paedophiles and had a direct hand in their capture. But this… This is different. It’s grey. What we know about extremists is that we don’t know very much. Not really. Especially not enough to profile them. They can come from any background. A diverse bunch. Only a few months ago we have had a high-flying‚ suit-wearing‚ secretary-shagging lawyer blow himself and everything around him up outside the American Embassy in Turkey. In the last twelve months we’ve seen scholars‚ junkies‚ alcoholics‚ bin men‚ the unemployed‚ all turn. It doesn’t matter. Status does not matter. The popular‚ the loner‚ even the non-religious.’
‘Yes. Okay. I get the picture‚’ Parker said. Not rudely‚ though that’s how it sounded.
‘They do not fit a single demographic profile and they all have different views and assumed paths. Drawn in for reasons political‚ personal‚ religious or otherwise. They don’t wear a uniform and they don’t play by any particular rules. So you tell me. How do we know? How can they be profiled?’
Parker nodded thoughtfully. Gladstone was right. How do we know?
Parker took a sip of tea. Gladstone did the same.
‘It’s a judgement call‚ Parker.’
13
I had killed thirteen prostitutes‚ sent a missile into a cop car and accidentally shot my best friend in the head. In the process I’d made almost a half a mill and that figure was rapidly rising. But it wasn’t the kind of money that would impress Silas‚ and hiding in bed for two days straight‚ playing Grand Theft Auto‚ was not going to solve my problem.
I was fully aware of the deep shit I was in‚ but I needed time to think. And the result of all my thinking? Not a goddamn thing. I would have to resort to asking Mum. There was nothing to be ashamed of in asking a parent for help. It’s my right to ask and it’s her right to provide.
I pushed myself out of bed and I padded my way downstairs. Halfway down I heard an unfamiliar voice.
A male voice.
I pushed open the kitchen door just as said voice uttered something so fucking hilarious that it made Mum throw herself onto his lap. My presence soon put a stop to their laughter and they both smiled nervously at me as they took in my evident bedhead and my Batman onesie. Mum had the good grace to detach herself from him. She walked over to me and planted one on my cheek. I sat down opposite whoever the fuck he was and Mum slid into the seat closest to him – even though the seat next to me was available!
‘This is‚ um‚ Andrew. Andrew Bishop‚’ Mum said‚ by way of introduction. ‘Andrew‚ this is my son‚ Jay.’
He put his right hand out‚ I put my right hand out too but it didn’t make contact. Instead I reached past his hand and in a pathetic act of rebellion I grabbed his coffee and took a sip of it whilst eyeballing him from over the rim.
One-nil to me.
He took his left hand into his right and shook his own hand at some attempt at humour and it made my Mum unsuccessfully stifle a laugh.
One-one.
We sat in awkward silence for a few seconds as I finished off Andrew’s coffee‚ daring him to say something to me in my domain. I checked him out. Dark‚ wavy‚ presidential hair dropping effortlessly over his big forehead. A nose that can only be described as prominent and dark eyes which held mine without hesitation. Stripy shirt with a loose brown blazer‚ with patches on the elbow and a jaunty novelty tie that sat askew. Looking for all the world like a geography teacher.
Andrew glanced at his watch. ‘Oh‚ look at that. Must dash.’
Yeah‚ on your bike‚ mate. Dash away!
‘Andrew’‚ Mum said‚ ‘teaches at Heston Primary.’
I knew it.
I shrugged. Big and exaggerated. The kind of shrug that did not require decrypting. Andrew and Mum stood up in tandem. Mum stepped to him‚ straightened his tie and then tiptoed and kissed him on the face. On the fucking face! They smiled stupidly at each other for a second‚ and then they walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. I heard the front door open but not close. I walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway and made myself into a sixth toe. I watched them carefully talking in hushed tones. I sniffed loudly. I cleared my throat. I forced a cough until finally he got the message and walked out.
Mum gave him a cheery wave and said ‘Good luck!’ She hesitantly shut the door after Andrew was out of sight‚ and I made my way back into the kitchen for some Coco Pops.
Mum walked in as I was slamming the kitchen cabinet shut. She slapped me on the back of the head.
‘What the fu—’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What was that for?’ I asked‚ rubbing the back of my head.
‘Calm down‚ Jay. You’ve made your point‚’ Mum said.
I finished preparing my cereal and sat at the table whilst she loaded the dishwasher. This clearly was not the right time to ask for ten large.
So instead I asked‚ ‘Good luck for what?’
Mum didn’t answer me straight away. She took off her marigolds and pulled up a chair opposite me. Her features softened‚ her earlier annoyance with me no longer visible.
‘It’s Andrew’s last day at school.’
‘How sweet. Are all the kids going to sign his shirt and flour bomb him?’ I said‚ through a mouthful.
Ignoring my sarcasm‚ Mum placed both her hands out invitingly onto the middle of the table. I looked at her curiously as I crunched loudly on my cereal. I slowly put the spoon back in the bowl and my hands reached out to hers.
‘Jay… We need to talk.’
I swallowed. Never had she said that to me before. Yeah‚ we talk but we don’t talk.
‘What is it‚ Mum?’
I could see her trying to piece together the words in her head which just added to my already increasing anxiety. Different scenarios ran through my mind‚ none of them pleasant.
‘Mum! What?’ I said‚ and it came out like a high pitched squawk. My hands had tensed and tightened around Mum’s.
‘Andrew and I. We‚ um… Well‚ we… I don’t know quite how to say this.’
