“Yes, Mr Williams? What I do for you?”
Demarcus Williams pointed to the floor at his feet. “Come here. Tell Barcode what you told me earlier.”
Benjie shuffled forwards, unable to look Barcode directly in the eye. The weasel doing what he did best, being all weasel-like, packing no guts. He stopped in front of the big man, shoulders stooped, head lowered.
“I only just tells you what I saw, Mr Williams.”
The big man bunched his fists. The knuckles cracked. “Tell it again. Now!”
Hang-dog, Benjie shot a whipped look at Barcode. He made his shoulders slope so much, like he thought the blame would slide right off of them.
“We was manning our pitch, minding our bid’ness, like we always do, Mr Williams. Near that old playground at the end o’ Brooke Street. By Crease Cut, you know?” He nodded at the map on the screen. “We just go where TM tell us to go. We do good trade there, Mr Williams. People know when and where to come for they gear, you know?”
“Quit the bullshit, Benjie. TM knows where you was.”
Demarcus Williams flashed a glance at the big screen as though he thought TM was behind the glass, listening, even though the monitor displayed nothing but the street map. A shiver rolled down Barcode’s spine.
Fuck. Is TM listening?
“TM’s got spotters making sure his crews are where they s’posed to be at and doing what they s’posed to be doing,” Demarcus Williams said. “And he’s got me and my team to enforce it. Tell your tale before I gets angry.”
Benjie nodded a few times, like he was a pigeon pecking at some seeds. Pathetic, it was.
Pitiful.
“This … white woman … comes out the old cripple’s house,” Benjie said, stammering and hesitant, “a real betty, she was. Y’know, a looker despite her being so old. An’ she walk towards us, heading somewhere. For the shop maybe. Make the mistake of looking at us direct, you know. Give us eye contact. It seem like she was dissing us. Least that’s what Barcode say. If I remember correct, he say something like, ‘That bowl of fresh cream’s dissin’ you and me, Benjie’. At least that the way I remembered it. That right, Barcode? Ain’t that what you say?”
Barcode stared the weasel down but couldn’t openly lie. It was pretty much exactly what he did say, and Big Robert would back up Benjie’s words. Instead of lying, Barcode jerked up his chin in agreement.
“S’right,” he added, all confident. “I say that.”
“What was she like, this ‘betty’?” Demarcus Williams asked.
“Old, Mr Williams. In her late thirties, easy. But built, you know? Nice rack and chassis. She move well, like all rolling and slinky. Not much of a booty, but if you likes them small and racy, she weren’t at all bad.”
“What happened next?”
Benjie piped up again. “Barcode say we should slap the bitch into her place. Teach her some manners.”
Demarcus Williams speared Barcode with one of the accusing looks he used to scare the Tribesmen, but Barcode wasn’t so timid. Didn’t scare so easy. After all, the big Goon wasn’t TM.
“That what you say?” Demarcus Williams asked.
“Something like that,” Barcode answered, staring at Benjie, the turncoat weasel.
Benjie continued, looking at his feet. Clad in Nike Airs they were. Cheap and nasty. Benjie got no class or style. Never had. Never would.
“So,” Benjie said, looking up at last. “Barcode step outta the Cut and onto Brooke Street.” He pointed to one of the three pulsing amber lights on the wall monitor. “Stand in her way, he did. Woman try to walk around him, but Barcode kept getting in her face, you know? They was doing a dance, like. You know, like on Strictly?”
Benjie mimed a ballroom dance, a waltz or something. Demarcus Williams grunted, but Barcode couldn’t tell if the ugly mother was amused or angry.
“And then?” Demarcus Williams asked, looking at Barcode, not Benjie.
“And then Barcode went to grab the betty’s arm. Well, Mr Williams. Next thing I know she doing this kung fu type shit. Y’know, all arms and legs and twisting and turning. Then, Barcode’s flying through the air and landing on his butt. Squealing like he broken something. Man, it was something to see. Whish, bash, bosh.”
Benjie whirled his arms in the air and spun around like he’d just had a bad hit of angel dust. When he faced Demarcus Williams again, Benjie lowered his head and stopped giggling.
Still focused on Barcode, and with a face dark as thunder, Demarcus Williams asked, “That right, Barcode? That what happened?”
How the fuck could he answer that?
Barcode still didn’t know how the be-atch put him on his back. His elbow, shoulder, and butt still hurt from the tumble, but the cut on his head was worse of all. Still saw stars from it.
Next time, he promised himself. Next time he saw the fuckin’ be-atch, she was going down. Down on him first, and then down to Hell where she belonged.
If he admitted to Demarcus Williams the old ho had put him on his ass, he’d lose face. Worse still, he’d lose his pitches. No way could he let that happen. He’d waited months for the promotion and wasn’t going to give it up easily.
Barcode stood taller. Looking down on Benjie, but being careful not to crowd Demarcus Williams. He shook his head and spoke all quiet.
“Mighta look that way to this fool, but like I tol’ you before, Mr Williams, I slip. She back away, and I lost my footing when reachin’ out for her. Like I tol’ you it were them damn sneakers. Won’t happen again. Hell no.”
Demarcus Williams glanced at the screen before fixing his thunderous expression on Barcode once again. The big mutt still threw out evil vibes, but at least he didn’t draw his piece, or call on any of the other Goons to sling Barcode from the Hub. He’d seen it happen once and it didn’t end up too well for Linus, the poor fucker who got slung out. Nobody never seen or heard from Linus again. Rumour said he’d fetched up at the bottom of a canal somewhere, and Barcode didn’t want to end up the same way.
“So, why didn’t you get up and teach her a lesson?”
“Her old man arrive, shouting all hell,” Benjie spouted, all excited again. “Ran at us like he ain’t carin’ who we was. I mean, me and Big Robert and Barcode, the three o’ us was all a head taller than the little guy, and he came flying at us like he didn’t give a shit. Like he was packing heat, Mr Williams. I thought it best to burn rubber ’fore things turn ugly. Big Robert and me helped Barcode outta the mud and we blurred.”
“Little guy you say? Describe him.”
“Old pasty-faced dude, pushing forty. Shaggy dark hair and bushy beard. Skinny, but fit, you know. Man, he could shift. We didn’t make it far ’fore he reach his missus. What with having to carry Barcode, and all.”
Barcode took his turn to growl. “Fuck. There you go again, dissing me to Mr Williams all the time. I tol’ you I slip. Hit my head, you fucker.”
Barcode leaned closer to Benjie, all intimidating, but the little fucker ducked behind Demarcus Williams, acting like a kid grabbing his daddy’s trouser leg. Hiding. Scared.
Demarcus Williams elbowed Benjie in the ribs. The weasel squeaked and backed away. Barcode barred his teeth.
That put him in his place.
“What time did this happen?” Demarcus Williams asked, clearly not forgetting the reason for all the ructions.
“Right after we break for food,” Benjie spouted, rubbing his ribs. “I guess it a little after two, Mr Williams.”
“In daylight?”
“Yes, Mr Williams.”
“What the fuck? You threatened a civilian in daylight?”
“No, Mr Williams,” Barcode said, jumping in before Benjie could dig him a deeper grave. “We just marking our territory, man. You know what it’s like when the honkies move in. There goes the hood.”
The old joke had the effect Barcode was aiming for. Demarcus Williams’ sneer turned into a smile and he nodded.
“That is does, that it does, but in future
, you remember TM’s rule. Keep the local action quiet or the bacon is likely to get all riled up and business is gonna take a hit. You unnerstan’?”
He held out his fist. Barcode relaxed a little and pushed out a fist of his own for a bump, but Demarcus Williams cracked him over the knuckles hard, like he was trying to break bones.
Barcode clamped his teeth together, desperate not to cry out. Fuck, it hurt. He could almost feel the hand swelling, but he didn’t look down. Didn’t rub the skin, neither. Couldn’t show weakness. Not now he was so close to climbing out of the brown stuff.
Demarcus Williams sniffed. Scanned the Hub with beady brown eyes that landed on the geeks. “What the fuck you all doing? TM ain’t paying you to sit there with your thumbs up your asses. Get on with your work.”
Once the geeks started tapping, Demarcus Williams turned and headed back to his desk. He dropped into his seat and sneered at Barcode. One gold tooth glittered in the low light.
“What we going to do with you?” he asked, pointing Barcode into the chair opposite and waving Benjie away like he was swatting at a fly.
Barcode sat and waited, throat still dry, and the bruised hand throbbing.
The gold-plated mobile phone on Demarcus Williams’ desk buzzed. The big bastard snatched it up off the desk and hit the connect button. He listened for an age without speaking before disconnecting the call and lowering the mobile to the desk. He stared at the glittering case, nostrils wide, breathing deep. The asshole seemed upset. Demarcus Williams picked up the mobile again and twiddled it between his fingers. Eventually, he dropped it back onto the desk.
Finally drawing his eyes from the mobile and fixing them to Barcode, Demarcus Williams stood. He prowled over to one of the geeks, mumbled something in the little fucker’s ear, and returned to his chair. The geek hit a couple of keys and the three amber lights on the big screen behind Demarcus Williams’ head stopped flashing.
Barcode started breathing again. He waited for them to turn green, but they stayed amber.
Demarcus Williams spoke again. “TM’s given you a reprieve. Said the only reason you’re not about to be lying next to dear old Linus is you done good work up to now. An increase of eleven percent since you took over your patch. TM’s given me some wiggle room with you, Barcode. You feeling me?”
Even though the big screen only showed the street map, TM was definitely watching and listening to what was going on in the Hub. Barcode nodded to himself. For the first time, he had certain proof the boss kept eyes on them all. Barcode tucked away the information in case he needed it for later.
Knowledge was power, assuming you understood how to use it prop’ly.
Barcode nodded again, this time towards the big man behind the desk. “I’s feeling you, Mr Williams.”
“Good, but it don’t mean you coated in Teflon. TM’s putting you on probation. Y’unnerstan’?”
Sure, I understand, asshole.
“Yes, Mr Williams. I do understand. Is there anything else?” Barcode eased up and out of his chair.
Demarcus Williams waved him back into the seat. “As it happens, there is. TM tells me he know how your mind works.”
Barcode frowned.
What the fuck now?
“He does?”
Again, the gold tooth glinted inside the wide mouth. “Yeah. He says you prob’ly intend to go do something nasty to the woman who slapped you down.”
“Aw hell, Mr Williams, I tol—”
“Yeah, yeah, you slipped. That’s what you say, but TM reckons you be planning to go nuclear on the woman, and he don’t want that.”
“That right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. TM says if a white woman like her gets hurt or goes missing, it’ll bring us some attention we don’t need right now. The pigs don’t mind us squabbling amongst ourselves so much. They hardly even bother investigating our little rumbles with the Parksiders no more, not unless one of us ends up on a slab. But if a white woman gets herself murked, it’ll kick up a real shitstorm. TM says we don’t need no police or media people taking an interest in our business right now. Get it?”
Barcode dipped his head in a reluctant nod.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
The fuck I do.
Demarcus Williams leaned closer, his chair creaking under the weight of all that muscle and bling. He pointed a finger at Barcode, big gold rings that acted like knuckledusters in a rumble, gleamed. “TM told me to make this part totally clear. You do not touch the white woman. If she so much as stubs her toe, TM’s gonna have me take it outta your hide. And you know what, Barcode?”
“What’s that, Mr Williams?”
“Taking a strip outta you would give me great pleasure. I hasn’t dished out a decent kicking for ages. I’s getting rusty and I hate that. Something about you makes me itch, Barcode. You ambitious. I can see it in yo’ eyes.”
Barcode kept silent, and he didn’t react.
These ambitious eyes will be the last thing you’ll ever see, fat man.
The gold mobile rang again. Demarcus Williams picked it up and listened for a few seconds, staring hard at Barcode.
“Really?” he asked, before adding, “Yes, TM. Right away,” and ending the call.
The fucker dropped the mobile on the desk again. It rattled for a while before stopping. Barcode enjoyed the way the gold caught the light. Flashy.
Sweet.
“Well, now,” Demarcus Williams said, “for some reason, TM like you. He say you got balls. That right?”
Where you going with this now?
“I asked you a question, Barcode. Do you have stones?”
“Yes, Mr Williams, I got stones.”
“Good,” Demarcus Williams said, smiling like it meant something important, “because TM’s got a task for you.”
Barcode’s senses prickled. Whatever TM had in mind prob’ly weren’t going to be good for him. Barcode knew he’d have to pay for the reprieve somehow, and this didn’t sound too cool.
Demarcus Williams levered himself out of his chair again and stood tall, crowding over Barcode. “Come with me, you.”
The big dickwad turned and swaggered towards the door leading to the old kitchen. Barcode followed, doubting he was about to be offered afternoon tea and crumpets.
Fuck. Look lively, man. This shit’s serious.
Chapter 20
Sunday 19th February – Barcode
Walthamstow, NE London
16:38.
The door opened into a long corridor lined with closed doors. Demarcus Williams led him past one marked Kitchens and past three others before opening the fourth and pushing into a small, dark, and windowless room not much bigger than a cupboard. He threw a switch on the wall. Fluorescent lights flickered before catching and glowing a pale yellow.
Bottle green tiles stretched halfway up the walls, with muddy cream paint above. A grey steel table stood against the far wall, and a pair of uncomfortable-looking tubular steel chairs faced it, their backs upright and the seats hard. No cushions.
Fuck.
Last thing he needed since his butt and back still hurt from hitting the pavement.
Barcode had been inside better furnished police interview rooms.
He swallowed hard. What was this?
On top of the table, a decent-sized computer monitor blinked on and TM’s blurry outline appeared, shimmering against a white background.
Oh shit.
Barcode stood in the open doorway, hesitant.
Run. Fucking run!
Demarcus Williams shot out a hand and grabbed the back of Barcode’s upper arm, digging his sharp fingernails into the sensitive skin near the armpit. Shit. It hurt like a knife cut.
TM’s silhouette moved.
“Don’t make a liar out of me, Mr Codell,” TM said. The quiet, electronically distorted voice prickled the hairs on Barcode’s neck.
“I-I’m not, TM. Honest I’m not.”
“I told Mr Williams you had balls. Was I right?”
>
Barcode swallowed hard. Demarcus Williams dragged him deeper into the room and forced him into the chair on the right. The Goon released his vice grip on Barcode’s arm and dragged the empty chair further from the table, placing it between Barcode and the door. He sat, crossed his arms, and leaned back, never taking his eyes from Barcode.
“I don’t like repeating myself, boy.”
“S-Sorry, TM?”
“Do you have balls?”
“Yes, TM. I got balls. I got huge balls.”
“Good, good. See, Mr Williams? I told you he had the stones.”
The feet of the metal chair screeched on the concrete floor. “You did, TM. But, if you’ll forgive my saying so, this prick need to prove it. From where I’s sittin’, it look like the fucker’s about to shit his pants.”
The head of the shadow on the screen tilted to the left. “Not fear, Mr Williams. I’d call it a man revealing a healthy desire for self-preservation. What do you say, Mr Codell?”
“I never disagree with you, TM. I’m confused, is all.”
Confusion, fear, and anger combined to screw Barcode’s guts into a tight knot of pain. What the fuck had he crashed into here? That be-atch had a lot to answer for. Didn’t matter what TM’s orders was, he’d find a way to make her pay.
“Confused? I can understand that. In your position, I imagine I’d feel the same way.”
“Thanks, TM,” Barcode answered, happy to hear his voice sounding more confident, despite the twisting in his guts.
“After what happened with Brutus—”
“You know about Brutus?”
“Don’t interrupt me, fool!” TM’s amplified voice echoed off the shiny walls and rattled inside Barcode’s ears so loud it hurt. Made them ring, and he was only just starting to get over the damned headache.
Things were racing out of hand. Barcode shot a glance at the door, then at Demarcus Williams, who sat in his chair smiling and shaking his head as though he was reading Barcode’s mind.
On the Money Page 18