“Are you sure you’re not here officially?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then I can tell you to get fucked, can’t I?” He grinned again, but there was nothing funny in his expression.
“You can,” I said mildly, not rising to the bait, “but I wouldn’t recommend it. Eddie Baker just did that and now he whistles when he breathes.”
There was a pause and then my phone vibrated in my pocket. I thumbed it off without looking at the screen. “Come on, Craig, don’t be an arsehole. I’m trying to save Jake’s life. At the very least call him, let him know I want to talk. We could do it on neutral ground if he’s that worried.”
“And what’s …”
“In it for you? That’s a popular question today. How about you get the satisfaction of knowing that you both saved your old friend’s life, and didn’t make an enemy out of me? That’s got to be worth something.”
“I guess. Always handy having a copper in your pocket. Okay I’ll call him, but if he says no then that’s that. Fair?”
“I suppose so.”
He pulled a mobile out of his pocket, holding it carefully so that I couldn’t see the code he tapped in. Put it to his ear.
“Jake, it’s me. Listen, I’m with your brother. No, not like that. Just shut up! He wants to meet you, says he’s trying to save your life coz the people you got the coke off are looking for you. I’ve told him that if you say no then … Me? I say go for it, I reckon he’s telling the truth. You will? Okay, when and where? Right, later.”
He ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed.
“Says he’ll meet you,” he sounded surprised, “in an hour’s time in Jubilee Square outside Brighton Library. Just you, though. You bring anyone else and he’ll run.”
“Thank you.” I was surprised to find that I meant it. I hadn’t really thought he’d help. Now that I knew I was going to meet Jake, the tightness that had crept through my whole body without my realising started to ease. “I really appreciate this, Craig.”
“Well he’s a mate. Just keep him safe, yeah?”
“I’ll try, but you know what he’s like.”
“Yeah.” He laughed, and for a moment I felt a brief spike of camaraderie, quickly buried as I remembered how he’d helped to tear our family apart back when he’d been Jake’s running partner.
I stood, feeling slightly awkward, and returned the chair to its former position.
“Be seeing you around, I guess,” I said, heading for the door.
“Not too soon, I hope.”
Feeling’s mutual, I thought as I closed the door behind me and headed down the stairs to the next one. Maggie was standing behind it, and as I let myself out, she linked her arm through mine.
“Get everything you needed?” she asked as we walked along the corridor.
“Believe it or not, yes.”
“Then make sure you don’t forget our deal.” She reached up and patted me on the cheek, then let me out of the last door and closed it in my face before I could respond.
Left to my own devices, I made my way back through reception, stopping to peer out of the spyhole in the door. Only when I was sure it was clear did I venture onto the street, leaving my car where it was and quickly losing myself in the anonymity of the crowds that thronged the city centre.
Chapter 27
There was a time when Jake and I were friends. When I was about fifteen and we were close, when he would often meet me after school. Together we would go and see one of his friends, usually Craig Harrison but occasionally another near-lowlife, and they would end up getting bombed on whatever cheap weed or booze they could secure.
I’d partake occasionally, I’m not ashamed to admit, but usually I was happy to sit back and just be a part of the group. Enjoy listening to the ideas Jake would spin out while high. It always amazed me that, so dismissive and jaded while straight, Jake could be so fanciful when the drugs hit his system. As sad as it is, I often felt that I only saw the real him while he was under the influence.
Harrison had been a different story, however. I could see the need in him even then, even through my teenage naivety, and from the first day I’d met him I’d known he was bad news. I still remember the day I realised that he was leading Jake from teenage bad habits into genuine criminality.
As per usual, Jake had met me outside the school gates, barely waiting until we were out of sight before offering me a cigarette and a can of beer. I’d taken the first and foregone the second, knowing that I still had homework to do that night. I’d tried it pissed once before and it didn’t go well.
We’d walked to Craig’s house, talking shit as Jake drained can after can of cheap lager, his swagger more pronounced with each one. By the time we reached Stapely Road, he was drunk enough that I had to keep nudging him to keep him on the pavement. I pulled him to one side as we stopped outside Craig’s parents’ tiny mid-terrace house.
“You sure you don’t want to go home?” I steadied him with one hand.
“Fuck no,” he grinned. “Why would I want to waste this much booze listening to Dad moan at me?”
Before I could reply, someone inside the house began shouting – a deep, angry roar – followed closely by a meaty slap and a scream. A few moments later the door flew open and Craig stormed out, a large red hand print across his white cheek.
“Fuck you!” he shouted back through the doorway, then broke into a sprint as his dad, a fat man in his late fifties in just a pair of shorts, lumbered after him with a red face and balled fists.
“And don’t come back, you filthy little shit-weasel!” He paused, seeing us standing there just a few feet away, then fixed his scowl on us. “And you two can fuck off as well, unless you want more of the same.”
I felt Jake tense and pulled him away before he could do something stupid, careful to avoid eye contact with the angry man.
“Terry, come in love, Craig didn’t mean it.”
“Like fuck!” he bellowed, eyes narrowing as he spun and rushed inside, slamming the door behind him. “And as for you, you fucking whore …”
His voice was muffled by the thick front door, but we both flinched as the sound of another smack came from within the house. Part of me wanted to storm in and stop what was happening, but back then I had neither the skills nor the confidence to do more than get myself hurt.
“You two coming or what?” Craig asked, reappearing from where he’d hidden behind a parked car. “Got any booze?”
He grinned as if nothing had happened, the grin widening as Jake produced a can from his tatty rucksack and threw it over.
“What was that about?” I asked as we walked back towards town, throwing nervous glances over my shoulder in case his dad came after us.
“Nothing much.” Craig shrugged and cracked his can, draining half of it in one go. He tried to sound like he didn’t care but I could see the tension in his eyes, his face, in the way he held himself as he walked.
“Is your mum going to be OK?”
“Fuck’s it got to do with you, you fancy her or something?”
“No, I just …”
“I said fucking leave it!” Craig picked up the pace, stomping towards Old Shoreham Road so fast that we had to jog to keep up.
By the time we reached the corner he was a dozen paces ahead, which is when the trouble started.
An Asian man in his early forties who I vaguely recognised as a local shopkeeper was loading food, booze and cigarettes into the back of the car he’d parked outside his house, ferrying boxes back and forth with one careful eye out for local ne’er-do-wells. That didn’t do him much good, however, as Craig stormed around the corner and walked right into him, knocking a clear plastic bag of cigarette cartons out of his hand.
“Hey!” the man said, stooping to pick up the bag, “watch where you’re going or …”
“Or what?” Craig interrupted, shoving the man backwards. “Come on, or what? I’m sick of people telling me what to do!”
The man straightened, then made the mistake of lashing out, intending to slap Craig around the face. Already angry, Craig flew into a rage, dodging the blow and running in to fire punch after punch into the shocked man’s face.
There was no art or skill in his blows, just sheer fury and pent up frustration. The man went down quickly but Craig didn’t stop, instead kicking the man as he curled up into a protective ball.
“That’s enough,” I said, not wanting to get too close in case he turned his anger on me. “He’s got the point. Right, Jake?”
I glanced at Jake to see him looking greedily at the treasures inside the open boot of the car.
“Jake?”
“Hmm?”
“Do something!”
“What? Oh, sure.” He shook himself and walked up behind Craig, grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him backwards. The man was bleeding heavily now, cuts on his face and arms spattering Craig’s shoes and the pavement alike with blood.
“Craig, calm down mate,” he said, wrapping his arms around his friend and bodily lifting him off the ground. His legs still churned as he tried to keep kicking his opponent, but then Jake turned him towards the car and he slowed as Jake whispered something in his ear.
“I’m calm,” Craig said finally, his shoulders sagging, “I’m calm. Put me down.”
Jake let go and the two of them shared a look, then turned as one to stare at me.
“What?” I asked, taking a subconscious step back.
“You can keep your mouth shut, right?” Craig asked, eyes alight with adrenaline and fear.
“Uh yeah, of course. We need to call him an ambulance though.”
“Him? He tried to fucking hit me, you saw it. He’s lucky we’re only taking his car.”
“You’re what?”
“Taking his car,” he said slowly. “You got a problem with that?”
I stared at them both. One moment we were walking into town, most likely to waste money in a video arcade, and the next I was watching Craig assault a random passerby. Now he was telling me they were stealing his car, with all the food, booze and cigarettes, no doubt. Bad enough that I’d stood by while Craig went postal, but even at fifteen I wasn’t prepared to let a man lose his livelihood, not if I could help it.
I shook my head and squared my shoulders, ready to take a beating.
“No.” I meant the word to come out low and threatening, but it slipped out as a squeak.
Craig took a step towards me, fists rising, but then Jake laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy,” he said, hitting the exact tone I’d been striving for. “That’s my little brother.”
“So?” Craig snarled, whirling to face him.
Jake grinned and shrugged, as if this wasn’t about to turn even uglier than it was already.
“Then can I suggest that we get in this car and fuck off before one of the neighbours calls the old bill? Gareth can make his own way back.”
At the mention of the police, Craig deflated a little and looked around at the nearby houses.
“Yeah.” He jabbed a thumb at me over his shoulder. “And fuck this little turd, let’s go get twatted.”
He pulled the driver’s door open and jumped in, turned the key to bring the engine to life. With an apologetic look, Jake scooped up the bag the man had dropped during the attack, then mouthed ‘see you later’ as he hopped in the passenger seat. Before the door was fully closed the car pulled away, leaving me standing there next to the owner of the car my brother had just helped to steal.
I’d like to say that I checked to make sure the guy was OK, called him an ambulance and then waited for the police to arrive, but in reality I did what any scared fifteen-year-old would do in that situation.
I ran away and never spoke about it again.
Chapter 28
Jubilee Square is smack bang in the middle of town, accessible by one narrow road and no fewer than three alleyways. It’s the perfect place for a meet, with multiple escape routes and any number of public buildings to lurk in if you want to stay out of sight.
It’s flanked by the glass monstrosity of Brighton Library, a Pizza Express, a restaurant, and across the road that runs down one side a Tesco and several bars that change their names often enough that I no longer bothered to learn them.
Ten minutes before we were due to meet, I strolled along Jubilee Street with my hands in my pockets, willing myself to look like just another pedestrian wandering through. Over the years, I’ve found that blending in works best when you tell yourself a story about your reason to be somewhere, then do your best to believe it. If you get it right, it changes your body language enough that you can literally walk right past someone on high alert without them so much as giving you a second glance.
This time, I convinced myself that I was going to pop into the library for a book, then find a café and while away a few hours reading it over coffee. With that in mind, I angled towards the library, joining a slow but steady stream of people heading into the building.
As soon as I was inside I stopped, checked the display boards inside the entrance and kept an eye out for the team I’d spotted earlier. I was fairly confident that I’d lost them, but overly-excessive caution has saved my arse on any number of occasions.
After a few minutes I was satisfied that I was alone. I had no idea where in the square I was supposed to meet Jake, but I didn’t want to go and stand outside in the open until the last possible minute. I might be unobserved for now, but every second in the open would burn up my exposure clock.
Just outside the tall library windows were a couple of benches, one made from strips of silver metal and the other a curved block of stone. They were the only things that even remotely resembled cover and after another few minutes I headed back out of the doors and over to the metallic bench, sitting on the far end from its only other occupant, a man in his thirties eating something greasy from a Greggs bag.
With my back to the library I scanned the approaches to the square and felt horribly exposed.
The minutes ticked past. The other man on the bench was replaced by a middle-aged woman on the phone, her voice blending in with the hubbub of the passing crowd.
A beggar on the far side of the square began the rounds, visiting each table at the restaurants until a burly waiter saw him off.
I checked my pockets idly, hoping for a forgotten packet of cigarettes. There’s nothing like sitting around waiting, to bring on those nicotine pangs. I came up empty, the only things on me my phone, keys, wallet, airwave set and captor spray. I considered going to buy some, or looking for a friendly smoker, but just then Jake appeared from the side of Pizza Express and hurried towards me, looking nervously all around. He couldn’t have stood out more if he’d worn a hat saying, ‘I think I’m being followed’.
I stood as he approached. Wiped sweaty palms on my trousers and held out my hand as he approached.
“Good to see you, mate,” I said, grabbing his hand and pumping it as if we were old friends. “How are things?”
He pulled his hand from mine and stepped back, studying me with a quizzical expression. He’d found time to change clothes since our last encounter and was now wearing a pair of grey cargo pants and a blue t-shirt. He didn’t, I noticed with a sinking feeling, have a bag with him.
“What the fuck?” he said, still staring at me.
“I was trying,” I said between gritted teeth, “to blend in. I forgot that you’re a fucking amateur.”
Jake stiffened. “There’s no need to be like that. What do you want, anyway?”
“Can we talk somewhere else, preferably off the street?” I glanced around, trying to see if anyone was taking an interest in us. “This is too open.”
“You wanted to talk,” Jake folded his arms, “we can talk here. I’m not stupid enough to go anywhere with you.”
“But you are stupid enough to steal off Russian mobsters,” I hissed. “Which is, of all the dumb things you’ve pulled over the years, probably the i
cing on the fucking cake.”
“If you’re just going to bitch at me, I’m going.” The anger and hurt in his voice made me wince. I needed him to cooperate, and here I was pressing his buttons instead. Knowing him as I did, he’d never back down now I’d pissed him off.
“Fine.” I grabbed him by the elbow, digging my thumb into the nerve point there to force him to move as I propelled him towards the road. Up close he smelled of sweat and desperation. My phone started to vibrate in my pocket again but I ignored it. “Let me say my piece. The Russians turned up at my fucking flat last night and woke me up with a gun to my head. They told me that the only way you get out of this balls-up you dropped yourself in is for them to get their bag back.”
“But I already sold some of the drugs.”
“They don’t care about the drugs,” I steered a course between the other pedestrians in the square so they wouldn’t overhear our conversation. “They want something else that was in the bag.”
“Oh, you mean the computer whatsit, the USB flash drive?”
I stopped, grabbing his arm and spinning him to face me.
“What USB drive?”
“It was the only other thing in the bag, it must be that.” I watched his face go from stubbornness to confusion and finally settle on fear, but it was just a touch too contrived. “Do you think it’s important?”
“No, Jake, I think they were just shooting at you for a laugh. Of course it’s fucking important! Where is it?”
He yanked his arm from my grip and stepped back.
“Why should I tell you?” Something in his manner told me he knew more than he was letting on. Although Jake wasn’t the brightest of sparks, he was far from dumb.
“Because if you don’t then I can’t help you, and if I can’t help you, people I care about are going to die. You know what’s on it, don’t you?”
He looked away for a moment, then said quietly, “Yeah.”
Closer Than Blood Page 11