by K E Coles
‘Wait ‘til we’ve gone,’ Spicer said, slowly. ‘Go straight out the door. Don’t look back, okay?’
She nodded, although Spicer guessed she understood nothing.
He replaced the covers and stood just as Ruby came through the door.
‘What’s taking you so long?’ she said.
Spicer ignored her, walked straight past and onto the landing.
‘You wanna be careful, Spicer,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’ He turned back, pushed his face into hers. ‘Threaten me, and I’ll rip your fucking head off.’
She backed off, hands up. ‘Whoa, calm down.’
Spicer turned away, trudged downstairs. Something weighed heavy in his chest. He’d meant what he said, and that frightened him.
He caught up with Leo and Nico at the car.
Nico turned a mobile phone and memory stick over in his hand. ‘Hope you’re right about this.’
‘I am.’ Leo said. ‘It’ll be on them, guaranteed.’
‘If it’s not,’ Nico said, ‘we’re all in the shit.’
Back at the house, Spicer showered and scrubbed himself all over until his skin glowed red, but it didn’t help. He crouched in the corner, hot water pounding on his head, and sobbed. He’d lost himself somewhere, and it felt as if there was no way back.
Later, he called Jim.
‘I can’t do this any more.’
‘Bad day?’ Jim said.
‘Not great. Listen . . .’ Every time he tried to say it, his throat closed up.
‘It’s okay,’ Jim said.
Spicer wiped his eyes on his sleeve, couldn’t trust himself to speak. It wasn’t okay - would never be okay.
‘Send me the details, then forget it, all right? Any time you want out,’ Jim said, ‘just say the word.’
Did he want out? Let them win? Wasn’t this about saving people like his sister, innocents? He swallowed. ‘No. No, I’ll be okay.’
‘Good lad.’
CHAPTER FORTY PEARL
My visit to church seemed to work. Three days later, and not a sign of the cocoon. Tootsie and I had developed a good routine, and I liked having the house and garden to myself. I pretended the house was mine, created gourmet meals, making up for all the crap I’d been eating.
I went shopping on the way home from work, wandered up and down the aisles, deciding what to make next.
Tagine – that sounded good. My phone rang. I put a pack of dried apricots in the basket, lifted the phone to my ear, and held it there with my shoulder. ‘Hello?’
‘Pearl?’ Male voice. Art.
I froze.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said, or I had been. Why? Why now, when I was just getting settled?
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m . . .’ Where was I? I glanced around. ‘Um – shopping.’
‘Are you coming home?’
‘Yes.’ I stood in the queue at the till, stared at my phone – call ended. It took forever to get served, but gave me time to think. I wouldn’t let him in, just talk to him on the doorstep, ask him about Mrs Arnold, give him his mother’s address, and tell him to go. Simple.
Except he wasn’t on the doorstep. He was inside, sitting in the living room.
I stopped in the doorway. ‘You know Mrs Arnold.’
He stood. ‘Yes.’ He took the shopping from me, carried it into the kitchen.
I followed him. ‘Did you arrange this – the room – my room?’
He emptied the carrier bag, his back to me. His hair had grown a little, almost hiding the skin at the back of his neck.
‘And my job?’ I said. ‘Did you arrange that too?’
He turned to face me. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘You weren’t safe in the other place.’
‘You mean you couldn’t get to me.’
He shrugged. ‘That too.’
‘Here.’ I pulled my phone from my pocket with a shaking hand. My fumbling fingers eventually found Maria’s address. I handed the phone to him. ‘There. That’s where your mother is. So you don’t have to pretend to want me any more.’
‘Did it feel like I was pretending?’ He did the thing with his eyes, closing them, flashing the blue.
But I was ready for it, and looked away. ‘What do I know?’
‘Pearl.’ The soft voice, the one that drew me in.
His hand was warm on my shoulder. I shook it off. ‘My parents want me to go home.’
He frowned. ‘Why?’
‘They know you’re up here.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Do they now? Hmm . . . And are you going?’
‘Maybe.’ I shrugged.
‘Don’t.’ He moved closer, ran his hands down my arms.
‘Get – off me.’
He raised his hands in surrender, took a step back. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you to go, okay?’
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Got another job for me?’
‘You’re safer with me.’
‘But I’m not with you, am I? You’re never here.’
‘I’m here now.’ He was so close, I could feel the heat from his body.
‘You never stay.’ Lost. I was already lost.
He kissed me, and something inside me fell apart, crumbled.
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Pathetic.
‘I’ve been away.’ He kissed me again. ‘With Papa.’
He stayed all night, slept on his back. I curled up next to him so I could breathe in the smell of his skin. I meant to stay awake, so as not to miss a second of having him there, but I must have slept. I woke before him, stared at his profile, relaxed and beautiful. It was easy to imagine him crying for his friend. Maybe if I asked him, he’d open up, let me in, and things would be different. I imagined us living together, having friends over for dinner, laughing – like normal people, like a couple.
His eyes snapped open. He stared at the ceiling, frowned, turned to me. ‘Shit!’ He jumped out of bed and pulled his jeans on, hopped about, losing his balance.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Late,’ he said. ‘I’m late. Shit, shit!’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Matter?’ he said. ‘Yes, it matters.’ He pulled on his coat, went to the door. ‘I have something on tonight.’ He didn’t look at me, stared instead at his hand on the door handle. ‘Don’t wait for me.’
‘Okay.’
He opened the door.
‘Art?’ I said.
He stopped. ‘What?’
‘Your mother.’
He closed his eyes, put a hand to his forehead. ‘I can’t think about that now.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said, cursing myself for a fool even as the words came out of my mouth. ‘When you see her. If you want me to, that is.’
He half-laughed. ‘I can’t go. If I go anywhere near . . .’
‘Then I’ll go for you,’ I said, although I’d had no intention of saying it. It was as if an alien had taken possession of my tongue.
‘Really?’
I nodded.
‘Thanks.’ He went out onto the landing, came back. ‘I liked it, by the way.’
‘What?’
‘I liked it – staying.’
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE SPICER
After Umar’s death, Spicer went along on the ‘visits’. His job was to guard the rear of whatever building they wanted, in case their man made a run for it. He hung about outside squats, hotels, garages, factories. No one ever appeared. After ten minutes or so, Nico and Malki would call him, ‘Job done,’ and it would be back to the car and home.
One late afternoon, he, yet again, ended up in the car park of an outwardly classy hotel. A fair-haired girl came out of the staff entrance – smart uniform, heels, hair up. She looked about his age, maybe a year or so younger, pretty.
Spicer smiled. ‘All right?’
She smiled back. ‘What you doing?’ She had a broad Geord
ie accent.
‘Waiting for . . .’
Behind her, a guy in his thirties, wearing a grey suit, jumped out of a ground floor window.
‘Shit!’ Spicer said.
The guy ran straight past them, and out into the back lane.
Spicer legged it after him. By the time he reached the lane, the suit had vanished. Spicer looked left and right, wondered which way to go. Fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.
Movement behind a white van caught his eye. He ran, but the man must have seen him, because he hurtled down the road, leapt over a chain link fence and onto a building site. He was fast for a suit, but nowhere near fast enough.
Spicer felt good, his blood pumping. Every sense tuned to his quarry, he flew over the rubble, sure-footed.
An arm’s length away now, and Spicer could smell the fear. He launched himself into the air, arms outstretched. He caught the man’s legs, just below the knees, and brought him to the ground. He used his bodyweight to keep him there, flat out, face down.
The man tried to turn his head, to say something.
Spicer didn’t let him – didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to know.
Nico and Malki arrived, out of breath.
‘Good work,’ Nico said, puffing. ‘Good work.’ He and Malki dragged the guy to his feet. ‘Wait in the car, Spice.’
Spicer didn’t look back. He hadn’t seen the man’s face, and didn’t want to.
‘What d’he do?’ He asked, once Nico and Malki returned to the car.
‘Thought he’d blackmail our target, siphon off some of our money.’ Nico shook his head. ‘Knows better now, eh, Malki?’
Malki smiled, nodded. ‘Oh, yeah.’
He was a blackmailer, not an innocent, so that was okay then, no problem.
From then on, Spicer went on every visit. He was faster than the others, and stronger. He enjoyed his work, got off on the way the meanest lowlifes cowered at the name Mesmeris. He liked it best when they made a run for it, loved it - the adrenaline rush of a chase, the heady power when he caught them, saw their fear.
He slept solidly. The nightmares stopped. He barely thought about Umar, Naden, or the guy bludgeoned to death any more. Life was okay – more than okay. For the first time since Becky died, he felt like he belonged, like he had a family – a twisted, warped family, but better than none. Definitely better than none.
Life in the house settled into some kind of routine. If there was no one to follow up, no one to chase for money or information, Spicer, Leo and Malki worked on the church.
One morning, they’d driven down just before dawn. Leo and Malki were repairing the sconces on the walls, while Spicer went round after them, placing a fat, black candle in each. He wondered why they moaned all the time. It wasn’t such a bad job. He’d had worse, far worse, when he was a copper. Had he ever been a copper? Really? Wasn’t that someone else?
Malki dropped his screwdriver, bent to pick it up. ‘How come Ruby and Nic don’t have to do this crap?’
Leo shrugged. ‘Search me. Elites, aren’t they? Do what they like.’
‘Yeah,’ Malki said. ‘Until Art gets back.’
‘What about the walls?’ Spicer ran his finger across the green slime.
‘Won’t notice,’ Leo said. ‘Shadows get deeper when these are lit. Hide a multitude, these beauties.’ He checked his watch. ‘Better get on with that altar.’
Spicer stood on a stepladder, and wiped years of grime from the angels. Malki and Leo painted around him, sloshing on thick black paint. It covered everything, even the brightest graffiti tags, in one coat.
When they’d done, they stepped back to examine their handiwork.
‘Look at those dudes,’ Malki said. ‘Awesome.’
The matt black paint had the eerie effect of bringing the angels forward. They hovered in space – worn and faded. Their battered wings glowed against the murk, as if they were on fire.
Was this the army of angels meant to be behind him, Spicer wondered? Let them watch, Art had said, and they were watching. Their eyes followed Spicer everywhere. It gave him the creeps.
He volunteered to clean the clogged, rat-infested drains outside instead. The first was only half done when a racket drew him back to the church.
Nico had hold of Leo’s stepladder, shook it from side to side.
‘Fuck’s sake.’ Leo clung to the sconce above.
‘Get down here,’ Nico said, ‘before I knock you off.’
‘All right, all right.’ Leo clambered down. ‘Christ, you coulda just asked.’
Nico caught him by the scruff of the neck. ‘Nothing on that memory stick.’ He shook him. ‘I’ve been through it, and there’s fuck all.’
‘What?’ Leo said. ‘What about the phone?’
Nico shook him again, so his head wobbled. ‘Same.’
Leo wriggled out of his grasp, backed off, hands raised in defence. ‘Maybe Umar was cleverer than he looked.’
Art’s slow drawl came from the doorway. ‘Messed up again, Leonard?’
Leo shook his head. ‘It was Umar. It was.
‘You’ve cost us a foot soldier.’ Art took a step towards them, paused, took another. ‘We’re already short.’
Leo and Nico backed away, just a pace, their differences apparently forgotten.
Art’s eyes narrowed. ‘What to do with you – that’s the question.’
‘What d’you mean, do?’ The sheen on Leo’s upper lip and forehead glimmered in the murky light.
‘I mean as far as discipline goes.’
‘What?’ Leo tried a laugh. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’ Art said.
He didn’t.
‘We can’t afford to lose anyone else,’ Nico said. ‘Papa’ll send the Brighton lot up if we’re not careful.’
‘Yeah.’ Leo’s eyes protruded with enthusiasm. ‘He’s right. Don’t want those tossers up here, do we?’
Art pursed his lips. ‘Good point. Thing is though, Leonard, information’s getting back to Gloucester. There’s a leak somewhere, but I doubt it was Umar.’
Sweat trickled down the back of Spicer’s neck. He glanced at the door. There was a good chance he’d get outside if he made a run for it, but he’d never make the street. He backed into the shadows, tried to still his trembling hands, quieten his breathing.
‘Well, it’s not me,’ Leo said.
‘No,’ Art said. ‘I didn’t think for a moment it was. You don’t have the imagination, Leonard.’
Leo snarled.
Art knew, knew it was him. Spicer wiped his hand across his mouth. This was how Becky must have felt - shit-scared, terrified. His vision blurred. He blinked the tears away. No use crying now. It was all over – the pretence, the lies.
He stepped forward.
‘I know who it is,’ Ruby said.
Art stared at the ceiling. ‘Really.’
Spicer smiled. Acceptance of his fate brought a euphoria he hadn’t expected. He felt weightless, as if he could soar into the sky.
‘It was Umar,’ Ruby said, ‘but not on his own. And guess what - I used to have a thing with the guy.’
The blood seemed to drain from Spicer’s body. He steadied himself, almost laughed at the bizarre disappointment, the heaviness, that came with relief.
No one had even noticed him. All eyes were on Ruby.
A slow smile spread over Art’s face. ‘Go on.’
‘Richie DeLario.’
‘No shit.’ Nico laughed. ‘You had a thing with him? What the . . ?’
She wobbled her head. ‘I was in school, wasn’t I, and he was this big ‘I am’.’
‘Big knobhead, you mean,’ Nico said. ‘He was with us in Brighton. What’s he doin’ here?’
‘Heard he’d relocated,’ Art said. ‘Sounds like he changed allegiance at the same time.’
‘Well, well.’ Nico folded his arms. ‘So, what d’we do?’
‘Bring him in.’ Art smiled. ‘Then we have a nice,
big sabbat to celebrate Papa’s arrival.’
‘Papa’s what?’ Leo said.
Art checked his watch. ‘Should be here about seven tonight.’ He glanced around the church, stopped at the altar, and stared at the angels. Seconds passed. ‘Paint over them.’
‘What?’ Leo said. ‘You said . . .’
‘Changed my mind. Paint over them.’
‘Brilliant,’ Leo said.
‘By the time you finish, Nico here will have found out where Richie lives, and you can all get over there – can’t you?’ Art walked out.
‘Jumped-up prick thinks he’s Papa,’ Leo muttered.
He cursed and complained as they daubed black paint over the angels, hiding their eyes, snuffing out their light. It seemed there were to be no celestial witnesses after all, no army of angels watching Spicer’s back.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ Nico said. ‘Malk, stay here – keep an eye.’
‘Man.’ Malki threw his paintbrush into a bucket. ‘How come I always miss all the fun?’
Ruby patted his back. ‘Perils of being a footie, Malk.’
Ten minutes later, they drew up outside a white-painted, three-storey house converted into flats. Ruby pressed the buzzer, leaned close to the intercom.
Nothing.
She pressed again, and again.
Nico glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll wait.’
They sat in the car and watched the road.
Leo fidgeted, sighed, opened the window, closed it again.
‘What’s up?’ Spicer said.
‘Need a smoke.’
‘Then get out and have one,’ Nico said, ‘cos you’re getting on my tits.’
‘Haven’t got any,’ Leo said.
Ruby pointed down the street. ‘There’s a mini mart down there.’
‘Great.’ Leo climbed out.
‘Don’t be long,’ Nico said.
Leo had only just disappeared inside the shop doorway, when Nico’s phone rang.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Nice one.’ He closed his phone. ‘Our man’s in the mini mart.’
Ruby grinned. ‘Is he now?’
They jogged along the road.
‘Take an aisle each,’ Nico said.
There was only one guy in Spicer’s aisle – thirties, sharp suit, goatee, slicked-back hair tied in a greasy ponytail. No way could Ruby have gone out with this slick dude. Spicer backtracked, pretended to look at the wines.